#And by out in the world I mean connected to people

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 MAYBE I JUST WANNA BE YOURS

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai does not get jealous. he especially doesn't get jealous over someone he's not even dating. because he's not dating you. he doesn't want to date you... right?

(wordcount: 5k; fem!reader, nsfw, lots of smut LOL idk what got into me this is the first fic ive written with more smut than plot in ages. but anyway: jealous!dazai, fingering, oral (f->m), semi-public/public sex. whiplash from dazai's thoughts (as always). unedited.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: hihi. SO this actually wasn't going to be connected to anything, but i decided like mid-fic that i wanted to make it a continuation to the adareader universe ive been considering building. i was too lazy to go check for inconsistencies, so if there's any dihfausihdfsudf just ignore them LOL. when i eventually make the masterlist for it and officially connect them all, ill go thru and double check for them. first i need to write them something with actual substance and not just horny posting LOLLLL.

Dazai is not a jealous man.

He’s not.

In fact, he’s the most un-jealous person in the whole world. He has no reason to be jealous, especially over you. He’s not dating you. Dazai never asked you to be his girlfriend, and that was intentional because Dazai doesn’t want a girlfriend. More specifically, he doesn’t want to be someone’s boyfriend. You’re just a friend—a friend that he sometimes fucks and occasionally seeks out to spend time with. He doesn’t want someone relying on him in a way a girlfriend would, and he certainly doesn’t want to rely on someone in the way a boyfriend would, because he doesn’t want the rug pulled out from under him when it inevitably goes to shit. 

The thought is suffocating, it makes his skin crawl.

Almost as much as the realization that the cop the two of you are assigned to be coordinating with is clearly head over heels enamored by you. Dazai scowls from where he’s standing a few steps behind you, watching as you go over the details of the file that the man brought to you—Dazai didn’t care to learn his name. And yes, Dazai means you because when the officer came over with the file, he didn’t even acknowledge Dazai’s existence and walked right over to you.

He still hasn’t acknowledged Dazai’s presence, staring at you with an adoring expression as you read through the file. Dazai thinks if this were some sort of cartoon, the officer would quite literally have hearts in his eyes—it’s disgusting, Dazai can hardly stand to watch it.

“Dazai,” you finally say, voice a soft hum. He likes the way you say his name—it rolls off your tongue prettily, and it makes his chest oddly warm. He’s not used to people saying his name with such softness; he’s used to anger, irritation, fear, but never this. He’s wondered how his given name would sound, he’s spent many nights imagining it, one hand pressed to his mouth and the other wrapped around his cock, but he hasn’t worked up the nerve to ask you to call him by it. That’s a step too close to actual intimacy and he’s not willing to take it.

You raise your eyebrows at him, and Dazai realizes you must have said something after you said his name, but he didn’t catch it because he was too absorbed in the way you said his name to notice.

“Come here,” you say again, nodding your head for him to drag himself out of the corner he’s sulking in to come to you. He feels a bit too gleeful watching the way the officer’s expression shifts in surprise as he turns to look at Dazai, finally noticing him.

Dazai pushes himself off of the wall to take a few steps closer to you, and he may or may not stand a bit too close on purpose just to see the other man frown. He stands behind you, chest brushing your back as he looks over your shoulder to scan through the file you’ve been reading. It takes him twice as long as it usually does because he didn’t realize that being in such close proximity to you would make him as dizzy as it did, and he’s too stubborn to back off now. 

Your hair smells like vanilla, and Dazai can smell the faint scent of your favorite perfume dabbed on your neck, worn off throughout the long day. His attention strays from the file to you, tracing the smooth curve of your neck, dipping down to your collarbone and swallowing when he realizes that the top three buttons of your dress shirt are undone, the stuffiness of the tiny room and the lack of air conditioning causing small, visible beads of sweat to form on your skin. His breath catches as his gaze lowers just a bit more and-

You turn to look at him and his gaze snaps up before it can drop to dangerous territories, and Dazai catches the amused look in your eyes—you know exactly what he was looking at. Instead of having some shame, because Dazai has no shame, he shifts just an inch closer to you, one of his hands resting on your hip. He watches the way your lashes flutter the same way they always do when you’re trying to pretend you’re not affected by his touch, and his lips curl up into a small smirk.

“What do you think?” you ask after a second. 

To your credit, your voice isn’t as strained as he expected, so Dazai ups it a notch, fingers sliding from where they’re caressing your hip to trail across your inner thigh. All out of sight from the officer on your left, but Dazai can tell he’s aware that something is going on from the way his enamored expression starts shifting into a more awkward one.

Dazai gives him a smug, sardonic smile before saying, “I think our friend over here should go get us the CCTV tapes—that’ll be much more useful to us then a bunch of reports.”

The other man’s face shifts in confusion, brows furrowing and lips curving down, but before he can say no, you speak up and agree, “That would be great.”

Dazai rolls his eyes when it makes the man straighten and nod, “I’ll get it right away.”

Before he steps out of the room, Dazai tosses another look over his shoulder, this one colder than it is smug, and he says maybe a bit too snidely, “Don’t come back until you have them.”

The officer doesn’t reply as he leaves the room, and as soon as the door clicks shut, Dazai is pulling away from you to walk over to it. He locks it quickly and then turns to face you, tilting his head to the side as his gaze roves over your body. You’re leaning back against the table, eyebrows raised, and Dazai doesn’t stop himself this time when his gaze lowers to the swell of your breasts just barely made visible by your partially unbuttoned shirt.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, motioning for you to come over to him.

You don’t budge. Instead, you raise your eyebrows and say dryly, “There are cameras in here, Dazai.”

He pointedly looks up to the two corners of the room that they’re in and then back down to where he’s standing, silently telling you that this is a blind spot. After a moment’s hesitation, you push yourself off the table and make your way over to him. Dazai tilts his head back against the wall, looking down at you through his lashes as you come to stand directly in front of him. He pretends that his throat doesn’t bob when he feels your fingers slip into his belt loops.

“What’s gotten into you?” you ask, but your eyes are glittering so he knows you know exactly what the problem is—and to think he thought you weren’t cruel, you might just be the worst type of cruel there is, hiding it behind pretty smiles and sweet words. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous because that cop has a crush.”

“I don’t get jealous,” Dazai replies with a simpering smile, lifting one hand to cradle your cheek, breath catching as your eyes flutter shut, pressing your face into his hand. “I just didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

Dazai thinks that you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen—he’s thought it since the day he met you, but he thinks it especially now when you’re leaning into his touch like it isn’t poisonous, like his hands aren’t stained with blood and his soul isn’t black and rotten. You deserve better than him, and that’s another reason why he refuses to take that next step: he knows one day you’ll realize it too. You’ll realize that you’ve fallen for a mask, that the man you care about doesn’t actually exist, it’s a thing that can barely call itself human pretending to be him.

He wonders if you know. He wonders if you know that something is wrong with him—he thinks that you must have some inkling after the bout of paranoia he had a few weeks ago when he was at your apartment, but he doubts you know the extent of it. He doubts you know that thoughts running through his head whenever that officer looked at you were anything but just casual jealousy; that every time he leaned in closer to you, Dazai’s fingers twitched in the direction of the gun given to him by the Agency that he’s only supposed to use in emergencies. 

Old habits die hard, Dazai has always been quite trigger happy. They never should’ve put a gun in his general vicinity.

 He leans down to ghost his lips below your ear, savoring in the way he feels you take in a sharp breath. His fingers tangle in your hair as he pulls your head back just enough to kiss the spot beneath your jaw that makes you writhe, and just as he expects, you let out a breathy moan against his ear that makes his head dizzy, your hands darting up to cling at the sleeves of his jacket.

“Dazai,” you gasp as he kisses down your neck. He hums in response, his free hand resting on your waist as he pulls you impossibly closer. “Are you sure…”

“I’m sure,” he says, and then adds smugly, “When am I ever wrong?”

He doesn’t have to see your face to know that you’re probably rolling your eyes at him, but he doesn’t give you the chance to make a witty remark about the first time the two of you met. His grip tightens on your waist as he flips you around so that your back is to his chest.

His hands immediately work to unbutton your slacks, lips finding their way back to your neck to pepper kisses up and down your skin as he watches the rapid rise and fall of your chest. He lets out a low groan against your skin when he slides his hand into your pants and feels just how damp your panties are.

“This better be for me,” he mutters more to himself than to you, nipping at the skin of your neck. His voice is a bit more rough now as he asks you, “Lace?”

He lifts his face from your neck to look at you. Your eyes are half lidded as the pads of his fingers trace the cloth of your panties, head lolled back against his shoulder, breath ragged and lips parted, but there’s something teasing in your gaze as it flickers up to meet his.

“The ones you like,” you breathe out, and Dazai swallows thickly. “I was gonna see if you wanted to come over after this.” 

“Shit,” he whispers, putting pressure right over where your clit is hidden, watching the way your thighs tremble. “Look at you, only I make you feel this good, yeah?”

“Don’t tease.” The whine that clings to your words makes Dazai’s head spin. He can already feel his cock straining against his pants and tries to ease some of the friction by pressing you back into him, rolling his hips against your ass. “Dazai-”

“Shhhh,” Dazai soothes with a grin, kissing up your neck to your ear when he hears the distress in your tone. “I’ve got you.” 

With practiced ease, he slides his fingers beneath your panties, middle finger dipping between your folds. He inhales sharply, immediately losing his grin when he feels how wet you are.

“This better be for me,” he repeats, a bit more seriously this time as he slides his finger between your folds, putting pressure on your entrance but not quite pushing in. “Hm?”

He waits for a response, relishing in the way your whole body trembles against him. He doesn’t even know if you know what he asked, you already seem so fucked out—lips wet and parted as you breathe in and out shakily, lashes fluttering and chest heaving.

“Tell me,” he presses, his free hand sliding up your body, untucking your shirt so he can slip his hand beneath it to feel your skin.

“‘course it’s for you, Dazai,” you say after a few seconds of confusion, like you were trying to remember what he asked. “What kind of question is that?” 

Dazai doesn’t respond to that, letting out a pleased hum as he kisses your jaw again. He also doesn’t give you the chance to say anything else, quickly plunging his middle finger deep inside of you. The sudden intrusion has your hand flying to your mouth to muffle the cry that escapes your lips—he almost wants to pull your hand away, but decides against it because he doesn’t want anyone else hearing you like this.

You try to rock your hips to get him moving, but Dazai’s hand flattens against your stomach, holding you still against him.

“Dazai-” you gasp his name again, this time your voice is more pitched, caught between a whine and a complaint.

“Patience,” he coos, but his voice is strained and his breath is heavier as your tight walls hug his finger, imagining that it’s his cock instead. He drags his finger out until only the tip remains inside of you. He teases your entrance again, tracing a gentle circle but not pushing back in. “Bet you could already take two fingers for me, yeah?”

“What if he comes back?” you suddenly ask panic flying through your eyes as if you’ve only just remembered where you are. Dazai is distinctly displeased by the thought of another man crossing your mind while his fingers are inside of you. “Dazai, what if-”

“He won’t,” Dazai answers you, making his displeasure known as he nips your neck. 

“How do you-”

“The corner that the disappearance took place on—it’s a blind spot for the CCTV cameras,” he answers before you can finish. Dazai knows this because he killed a target in that exact same spot two and a half years ago. “He’ll be gone for a while. He won’t want to come back empty handed to you.” 

Dazai doesn’t give you the chance to question him anymore, sliding his middle and ring fingers inside of you and watching as your jaw falls slack. To make up for the displeasure he felt at you bringing up that irritating cop, he fucks you hard with his fingers—you barely have time to bite the palm of your hand before his fingers are stretching your walls.

He thinks he might be pushing his luck—he doesn’t know if the cameras in the corners of the room pick up sound, and if they do, he doesn’t know how well they pick it up. Even if you’re doing your very best at muffling your moans, there’s no hiding the sloppy sound of his fingers driving in and out of your cunt—it’s wet and filthy, and it has Dazai’s head dizzy. 

His eyes drag up from where his fingers are plunging in and out of you back up to your face. Your pretty eyes are almost fully rolled back as he fucks you closer and closer to the edge and your lashes are wet. One particularly rough snap of his wrist has your hand falling limp from your mouth to your side and your lips parting in a moan that Dazai doesn’t dare allow anyone else to hear. Quickly, his free hand darts up to grab your jaw hard, turning your face toward him so he can press his lips to yours messily, swallowing the keening moan before you can let it out. 

He kisses you deeply, tongue tracing the inside of your mouth gently in contrast to the rapid thrusts of his fingers. You try to kiss him back, but you can hardly even breathe with how deep his fingers fuck into you. He knows you're close—he can feel it in the way your whole body is trembling, and how your pussy flutters around his fingers, so he picks up the pace, just as desperate to bring you over the edge as you are to get there.

He’s the only one that can make you feel like this. He’s the only one that can make your body shudder and writhe, he’s the only one that can make your eyes roll back in pleasure, he’s the only one and he needs to prove it.

“C’mon, baby,” he pleads against your lips. The pet name that spills from his lips is not the teasing bella he likes to hit you with like he intended—it comes out strained, breathy, just as desperate as he feels. The lack of control scares him a bit, but he’s too out of it for it to take hold. “C’mon, once on my fingers, then as many times as you want on my cock when we get home, alright?”

He doesn’t know what you’re trying to say, the noise that spills from your lips, muffled against his mouth, is a moan, caught between his name and a please and something else he can’t make out. Distantly, he thinks that the bandages on his forearm must be ruined, he can feel your slickness dripping down his hand to his wrist and he can hear the lewd sounds of his fingers pushing in and out of you. He doesn’t care—in fact, the thought only makes his lower abdomen tighter. 

“I’m gonna-” you gasp, the only word she can make out and Dazai grins.

“Yeah, you are,” he rasps, scissoring his fingers inside of you and rubbing his index finger over your clit, and you’re gone. 

Dazai groans when he feels you moan his name against his lips, hand dropping from your face to your waist to hold you upright as your knees buckle. You cum hard on his fingers, hips stuttering and stilling, and he can feel tears spilling over your cheeks. His cock is painfully hard now and he wants nothing more than to unbuckle his pants and replace his fingers with it, but he thinks that would be pushing his luck—he’s never had any semblance of control once his cock is inside you and he needs to keep an ear out for footsteps approaching the conference room. 

He rides out your high, pace slowing as he continues to fuck his fingers into your sensitive cunt, wiping your tears with his free hand once you’ve steadied yourself. You tremble, reeling from the intensity of your orgasm, and Dazai only removes his fingers when you claw at his wrist for him to stop.

His fingers are dripping with your cum, and though Dazai is aching for a taste himself, he instead lifts them to your lips. You’re still trying to get ahold of yourself, leaning back against his chest and breathing heavily, but you instinctually part your lips for him. His breath catches when you take both of his fingers into your mouth, lashes fluttering shut and tongue swirling around his digits as you taste yourself off of him.

“Fuck,” he groans, hand dropping down to rub the heel of his hand against his cock, desperately trying to alleviate the pressure. He has no idea how he’s going to hide this before the officer gets back and…

His thoughts trail off when you finally push off of him, your legs are still trembling, and your eyes are still a little hazy, but your gaze drops from his face to his rapidly rising and falling chest down to where he’s rubbing his cock through his pants. And then, you lower yourself to your knees in front of him.

“Oh, fuck,” he repeats, voice breathy this time and pupils blown wide as he watches your fingers work at the buckle of his belt.

Dazai almost wishes that the officer would come back soon, just so he could walk in on you with a faceful of Dazai’s cock. But if that happens, all of Ango’s work will go out the window because there’s no way he’s letting someone see you like this and walk out alive. 

Dazai’s cock twitches as soon as you free it from its confines. He’s already leaking an embarrassing amount of precum, and his tip is flushed red, but you waste no time before ghosting your lips across his length, suckling gently at the vein running along the underside of his cock before wrapping your lips around his tip.

Dazai chews at his lower lip, thighs tensing as he resists the urge to thrust his hips forward and shove his cock down your throat. Instead, his throat spasms as he swallows, reaching out to cradle the back of your head gently, carding his fingers through your hair soothingly.

“Lookit you,” he breathes out, voice wavering as he swallows another low groan. His fingers tighten in your hair just a bit, but he doesn’t push your face down on his cock, head falling back against the door as you work his cock further down your throat. His breath is ragged and heavy as your tight muscles spasm around him, desperately trying to adjust to the intrusion, and he can feel your nails digging into the bandages wrapped around his hips. “That’s my girl.”

Another loss of control that should probably concern him, but you’re quick to take his mind off of it with the way he can feel you let out a whine around him, nails digging a little bit deeper into skin as you take him fully into your mouth, lips flush to his pelvis and nose buried in his pubic hair.

His head falls forward as he pants, watching your throat struggle to adjust to him. He strokes your hair gently, silently beckoning you to look up at him because he worries that if he opens his mouth to speak, he’ll let out a pornographic moan, one that will be impossible to deny if anyone over hears.

Your lashes flutter as you look up at him, eyes wide and glassy with fat tears that roll steadily over your cheeks. 

Beautiful, he thinks hazily, and his—all his. No one else gets to see you like this, no one else gets to imagine you like this—you’re his. 

He chokes over air, free hand coming up to cover his mouth and hips jerking forward. He feels you gag around him and his hand drops to caress your cheek in apology, trying to wipe away your tears, but it’s clumsy and frantic—the sight of you on your knees for him, tears streaming down you face as you take him down your throat, is enough to send him spiraling over the edge.

His vision spots with black dots, the taut cord in his abdomen tightens and then snaps. He’s hardly able to muffle the moan that spills from his lips as his eyes knock back and his head falls against the metal of the door. His whole body tenses and spasms as he cums down your throat, he gasps for air, thumb still stroking your cheek as you struggle to swallow all of his cum.

It takes a minute for Dazai to regain some semblance of control over himself. By the time he has, you’re standing on shaky legs and tucking his sensitive cock back into his pants. His hazy gaze focuses on your face—your lips are wet and swollen, your eyes are still glassy, and this time Dazai doesn’t have an excuse as he lifts his hands to cradle your face and says quietly, “Mine.”

Your smile is teasing. “‘I don’t get jealous,’” you mock lightly, leaning in to press your lips against his. Dazai’s eyes flutter shut as his hand slinks around your body to your back, pulling your body flush to his as he deepens the kiss, sinking into the familiar feeling of your lips sliding against his. 

“I don’t have reason to be jealous,” Dazai murmurs, this time with a different meaning. He pulls back slightly so he can button your pants back up and tuck your dress shirt back into them, making sure you look presentable before the officer gets back.

Instead of teasing him again, your smile softens and you affirm, “You don’t,” and Dazai’s throat tightens. 

The thought of being in an actual relationship has always been suffocating to Dazai. Imagining having to spend the rest of his life with one person, having someone rely on him when his will to live is fickle at best and nonexistent at worst, becoming dependent on someone who could leave him on a moment’s notice… It makes his stomach churn with disgust, his chest tight with anxiety.

But when that faceless someone turns into you, Dazai realizes that the thought of a relationship is not quite as unappealing as it’s always been to him. Does it still make him skittish? Sure, but does it outweigh the green hue that colors his vision whenever someone looks at you and thinks you’re not his? Does it outweigh the bolt of fear he feels whenever he sees someone display interest in you, wondering if maybe you’ll get sick of his flighty behavior and give them a chance?

Absolutely not.

Dazai hears footsteps approaching the door he’s leaning on, and quickly unlocks it, motioning for you to stand back by the conference table. When the officer opens the door, the two of you are standing there casually like you never moved.

The officer gives you an apologetic smile that makes Dazai’s eyes twitch. “It doesn’t seem like there’s any CCTV footage from the area.”

Before you can respond, Dazai smiles tightly and says, “Wow, and it took almost twenty minutes for you to realize that—no wonder the police keep coming to us for help.”

You elbow Dazai, but he’s unrepentant, giving you a sweet smile before turning a cooler one back onto the officer. “If you don’t mind, we can finish the rest back at our office tomorrow now that we have the files. We have a date to get to.”

He doesn’t have to look at you to know you’re raising your eyebrows at him, but he keeps his gaze trained on the officer, finding sick satisfaction in the way the man’s eyes dart between the two of you, a dawning expression crossing his face.

“A… date?” 

“A date,” Dazai confirms, picking up the file and motioning for you to leave. He pointedly ignores the amused expression on your face as you make your way out of the room, walking past the officer who dumbly steps out of the way. “Thanks for the help… or, well, lack thereof.”

It’s only when the door slams shut behind the two of you, do you finally echo, “… A date?”

Hesitantly, Dazai confirms, “A date?”

When you don’t immediately respond, Dazai’s smile starts to freeze, considering that maybe you don’t want to date him and he read all of this wrong. You want to keep things casual, no strings attached. But after a few agonizing moments, you hook your arm around his and lean into him.

“Where are you taking me then, hm?”

“… It’s a surprise,” he replied.

A surprise for both of you, because Dazai hasn’t thought that far ahead yet. 

A tenseness that he hadn’t even realized was in his shoulders dissipates when you laugh and press your lips to his upper arm before resting your head against it. 

“Alright,” you agree, although he’s pretty sure you know damn well this is all spur of the moment. “Let’s go then.”

Though Dazai tries to rifle through all of the options of places you like to go, when the two of you step outside, all coherent thought washes right out of the window when you turn to look up at him, the setting sun casting an ethereal glow over your face.

“What is it?” you ask when he freezes in his tracks to admire you. “Dazai?”

For just a split second, Dazai can imagine it. He can imagine a life with you, and there’s no sign of any of the suffocation or discomfort he usually feels when he thinks of long term commitment too hard. He imagines waking up to you in the morning and falling asleep to you at night, he imagines spending his days laid up in bed with you sharing kisses and sweet nothings and he imagines dragging you around the city to show you off to anyone and everyone. His thoughts start to spiral out of control, and he’s glancing down at your ring finger, wondering-

“Dazai?”

Dazai’s thoughts come to an abrupt halt, and he swallows thickly when a more realistic image comes to mind—the expression on your face when you find out about his past, the disgust, the fear, the realization that he’s just not who he made himself out to be, that he’s been lying to you since day one.

“Nothing,” he says after a moment, voice a little raspy, so he shakes his head, giving you a disarming smile and clearing his throat. “You’re just so stunning that it leaves me at a loss for words, sweet bella.”

You don’t seem to buy it, but you don’t press, arm tightening around his as you make your way back over to your car.

As soon as you look away, his expression shifts into a more downcast one as his gaze tracks back over to you. It’s only a matter of time, he remembers. His past will catch up with him sooner rather than later, and no matter what you may insist about the past being in the past, he knows everything will change when you finally realize what all he’s been hiding from you.

… but maybe there’s not too much harm in indulging while he still can. He just has to keep reminding himself that he can’t get too attached.

“You should let me drive,” Dazai says sweetly. “So I can drive us to the place and keep it a surprise for you.”

You laugh in his face. “As if.”

You usher him over to the passenger seat before making your way back over to the driver’s side, and Dazai finds a genuine smile unconsciously curling at the corners of his lips. One that quickly falls when his fingers wrap around the handle of the car door.

He thinks, maybe, it might be far too late to stop himself from getting attached.

[lambilegs]

your best friends older sister!sevika fanfic had me gnawing at the bars of my enclosure. love the way you write her as a mean teasing flirt ☺️ may i suggest roommate!sevika who does everything she can to get reader worked up such as bringing home girls to purposefully fuck them loud as fuck to make reader jealous 🙂‍↕️ hehe

roommate!sevika headcanons

note to anon: OMGGGG thank you so much bae!! and right? I feel like if she found someone who got on her nerves, she'd enjoy being the rudest flirt alive, hehe. ALSO, YES, I LOVE THIS IDEA SOOOO MUCH. took me a while to write it out, but I hope you enjoy!! <33 contains: sfw and nsfw content (minors + ageless blogs dni), reader receiving oral and strap, porn-watching, kinda voyeuristic (reader gets horny from sevika having sex with other girls), throat-grabbing, smoking, reader's body is referred to with the terms "pussy," "g-spot" and "clit"

roommate!sevika who doesn't really bother talking to you at first, just keeping to herself. she's not a fan of sharing her living space with people, but money's tight, and this is what she can afford right now. she's not interested in friendship, or some sort of everlasting bond to form between the two of you. she just wants to live in amicable peace, and have her space to herself.

and so, the two of you barely talk. you try, at first, but it becomes clear three days in that she's utterly uninterested. which, you can't lie, is a pretty huge disappointment, considering that the prospect of living with an incredibly hot and stoic butch was one that had you thrilled initially. but, unfortunately, she seems anything but truly interested in any sort of connection with you.

roommate!sevika who remains in her bedroom most of the time, working on one contraption or the other, or watching videos on her laptop.

or gaming. because, yes, she games, and she does try her best to keep quiet, she really does. but, the idiots she plays with have her occasionally shouting, cursing loudly as they cause her team to lose yet again.

every now and then, she'll hang out in the living room, watching TV, but that's usually reserved to when you're not home, or locked up in your own bedroom. when you come out to cook in the kitchen, or sit on the love seat so that you can fold laundry, she'll usually linger for a few minutes, carefully observing, before standing up to head back to her bedroom.

it's not like she hates you or anything. you're pretty okay -- nice to her and not sloppy and disgusting like some of the other roommates she's had before. you even share the food you cook with her, and have always been cooperative about splitting chores with her. so, in sevika's books, you're not a person who she's keen on disliking, and she actually feels pretty damn lucky for having found your ad.

roommate!sevika who does nothing to quell the sexual frustration you've had for months due to the serious dry spell that's been plaguing you. walls are thin, and you can hear the loud ass girl she's brought home, moaning and whining as sevika's bed frame rocks against the wall. every now and then, her noises are met with sevika's hushed grunts and filthy words of, "tell me, who's a good girl?"

you twist and turn in bed, rolling over to glare at your phone. it's 2:03AM -- how does she still have the energy to be fucking at this time? you're exhausted, irritated, and insanely horny from what you're hearing. because horribly enough, this girl doesn't sound like she's faking -- no, she's truly enjoying herself. sevika is just that good of a lay, it seems. and that piece of knowledge has your pussy beginning to dampen, soaking through your panties.

if you shut your eyes, and drift into the hazy world of dream land, you can pretend that it's you and her making those noises. that she's the one fucking you right now. god, just the thought of that notion has your clit aching.

but, it also has you feeling a strike of insecurity. because the truth is, that probably won't be you and sevika anytime soon. she doesn't even give you the time of day. you don't know what it is you've done to her, but she avoids you like the plague, never returning any of your offers of kindness or bonding. and it's beginning to sting really bad. if she can canoodle with a stranger (and, yeah, you're painfully aware it's a stranger, since her text said, "Hey. I met a girl at the bar tonight, is it okay if I bring her over?") well enough to have sex with her that very night, why can she barely spare you attention as her roommate?

the thought is a cold wash over your horniness, and all it leaves is a bitter taste on your tongue.

roommate!sevika who's giving you the most bewildered stare as you shake the soaked thong of the girl she brought home last night, yelling about how you're convinced that said girl stole one of your underwear after this one got ruined.

"how would you even know that?" sevika snickers, eyeing you in disbelief. "are you that anal?"

"my drawer was half open, sevika! and I never leave it like that because I'd knock into it on my way in otherwise!" you snap, your eyes wide and glossy with anger. sevika's honestly a bit unnerved by the sight -- she's never seen you this pissed, but jesus, she thought it'd take more than a singular, flimsy piece of fabric to get you to this state.

"it's just one pair," she deadpans. "I'm sorry serena -- or, selena, I don't know -- took it, but it's not that big of a big deal."

"maybe not for you, but it is for me! listen, I don't care if you don't know the names of the girls you bring here, or anything about them -- but, just make sure they're not a thieving dumbass, okay? is that enough for you?"

sevika's jaw shifts, irritation beginning to sizzle in her from the condescension layering your words. you're talking to her like she's a fucking child, tone taking on a faux sense of guidance.

"okay, listen, I'm sorry she took your underwear, okay? I'll buy you a new pair if you're that bent out of shape over it. but, you don't need to be such a piss baby about it."

your head flinches back, eyes sharpening in clear anger. sevika feels a twinge of guilt. she knows she fucked up, since ensuring the girl from last night didn't do anything out of line was her responsibility. but, your anger has her own defenses kicking in automatically, and she's equal measures embarrassed and angered at being spoken to this way.

"I have every right to be pissed if you're gonna be stupid about the people you bring in our apartment."

well, that manages to snap her out of it. "because I could just magically anticipate that she'd steal your shit? I get it, she did something shitty, but I couldn't have known that. I've got lots of skills, but that's not one of them."

you scoff, the noise loud and unabashed. "oh, trust me, you made a great display of your skills last night. not that you seem to fucking spare any of that attention to someone unless you're gonna get a good lay out of it."

sevika immediately freezes at that, her brain running into overdrive. your tone has shifted into something biting, but lowered with what seems like -- frustration? frustration not just at that girl, but at sevika herself. and if you're frustrated about sevika possessing an attentiveness that she spares only to certain people, then that must mean--

sevika snickers softly. oh, yeah, you've definitely given her an opening in this argument. "what, you jealous?"

immediately, you're spluttering, broken words and half-gasps flinging from your mouth, sentences barely strung together. it only heightens sevika's newfound delight in having found something to hold above your head.

"you are, aren't you? what, haven't had a good fuck lately? need me to get one of my boys to come over and take care of you?"

sevika can see the way you work your teeth behind your pursed lips, and it only causes her flame of amusement to burn brighter.

"first of all, I'm not fucking pitiful, okay? I can handle getting fucked. second of all, I'm not into guys, something you'd know if you even spoke to me for two fucking seconds."

sevika's eyes widen at that. this interaction definitely had her suspecting it, but to hear you confirm it only sends another wave of satisfaction, mingled with surprise, through her. so, you're gay and bitter over having no attention, and specifically not hers? you're making it too easy.

"so, what, you're into me?" she asks, her voice twisted with snark. "been wanting me this whole time? mad I'm not giving you attention?"

she knows it's risky to be goading her own roommate like this, flirting and teasing. but, she can't help it -- not when your mouth is finally shut and she knows she has something on you.

she stalks up to you slowly, using her height to her advantage as she dips her head down, staring at you with a piercing smirk. "well?"

your eyes are wide, blinking rapidly like a pretty little butterfly. they flicker down to her mouth, and sevika feels something stir in her gut at the sight. she's always been neutral about you, but there's something undeniably attractive about seeing you like this -- seething, wanting, in need of someone to take care of you. as her gaze roves over your features, she finds herself struck for the first time that you're, frankly, pretty good-looking.

but, then, you draw in a sharp breath, and sevika reels back in surprise when you hiss, "no."

she's left baffled as you whirl on your heel, stomping to your room, muttering out, "perverted jackass."

sevika chuckles at that. perverted jackass, huh?

roommate!sevika whose noises are so bothersome that you cover your ears, gritting your teeth at the rattling-headboard noises that are running through the apartment for the fifth fucking time in these past two weeks. how sevika manages to get this many girls in her bed is beyond your human capabilities. all you know is that it was never this often in the past. no, this -- this is fucking personal. you can feel it in the way she shoots you a haughty smirk the next morning, and how she encourages the people she's with to moan louder, move back faster. it's gotten to the point where you can even hear the fucking skin smacks.

it makes you utterly enraged. and impossibly soaked. but, for your own sense of justice and determination, you refuse to get off to the noises. in fact, everytime she continues her habit of asking you politely if she can bring someone over, you ensure to respond in as chipper a tone as possible. you don't want her thinking she's having an impact on you. you want to convey the self-image of being unbothered, unfazed and completely okay with every little dig she's attempting with you.

what makes you snap is when you're on your way to work one morning, and from where she's seated on the couch, lip bitten in frustration as she does a crossword puzzle like a fucking nerd, she says, "enjoyed the show last night? I can pick someone else up tonight. thought I'd ask in case you need to charge your vibrator in advance."

stay calm. stay calm. don't attack her. don't sit on her face.

"well," you drawl with a forced smile, "you'd like that, wouldn't you? so, your next girl can steal it for herself."

she immediately bursts into a loud round of laughter, her gap revealing itself unabashedly. your eyes linger on it, struck with a sudden bolt of fondness. it's one part of her that is unarguably adorable.

you turn away before she can catch you, heading to the kettle to pour the boiling water into your tumblr.

"wait, no," sevika calls out from the couch, eyes still fixed on the newspaper. "the counter."

your eyes curiously travel to the wooden surface, gulping in surprise when you see a fresh pot already made. you know sevika always drinks coffee before her shift at the mechanic's, but that's usually just a single cup. never an entire pot like this. "did you, uh, make this for me?"

"don't flatter yourself. just take some."

her voice is a grunt and no-nonsense, not allowing for her meaning to be minced whatsoever. she wants you taking the coffee, and that's that.

with a bitten smile, you pour it into your tumblr, the pleasant scent of it wafting through your nostrils. it's the brand you always use, the one you've offered to sevika before that she's never actually taken you up on. at least until now.

she's at least half-redeemed to you until she says, "just needed some energy after last night, you know? wait, what am I saying? you were listening, won't you?"

your skin stretches over your knuckles as you tightly grip the doorknob.

jackass.

roommate!sevika who you try to get back at by watching obscenely loud porn. sometimes, you touch yourself to it, while other times, you just let it play in the background while folding your laundry, or wiping the dust from your furniture. you know it's immature as fuck, and will probably never equate to the personal touch of her being the one to incite those noises when trying to piss you off. but, hey, if it keeps her up at night and pisses her off, you're more than content. and judging from the glares she silently shoots you in the morning, you can tell you're succeeding.

at least, until one day, she leans in from behind when you're making eggs, her mouth lowered to your ear, and mutters, "c'mon, you're easy on the eyes. can't be so hard to find someone that you resort to porn, right?"

your nostrils flare, nearly slamming down the pan on the stove. "oh, fuck off."

"don't you mean 'fuck me'?"

your mouth cracks into an almost-smile. it's one thing to wanna fuck sevika, it's a whole other thing to have your stomach tighten up from how funny she is. makes it all the harder to deal with your current predicament. "no, I mean 'fuck you,' actually -- thanks for helping with that clarification."

"anytime," she huffs in amusement, lightly smacking your shoulder, which sends you nearly tumbling from her strength.

you glare at her back as she leaves. god, it's a good back. you hate that she has a good back.

roommate!sevika who's almost... thankful for this situation? because paying more attention to you, being in your way more often, ends up revealing to her that she was, admittedly, a damn fool for not having taken notice of you earlier.

because you're smart. like, wicked smart. what she suspects is mostly out of spite, you've started leaning over her shoulder, your scent flooding her senses as you spoil the answers to her crossword puzzles. at first, she rolled her eyes, grumbling that she would've gotten it without your help. but, now, she anticipates your stupid antics before you can even think about disrupting her mood with it. that translates to her raising the newspaper to you right as you meet her in the kitchen, an action which you first met with a disapproving glare.

but, in a matter of days, you're sitting right next to her, a pencil in hand, the two of you debating over answers together and groaning in frustration whenever you get something wrong.

when you bump her arm, whining, "c'mon, I told you it was wrong!" she can feel her face heat up like some fucking teenager.

and when you roll your eyes when her answer ends up being the right on, it only eggs her on, the motion usually followed with her murmuring, "sorry, what was that again?"

whenever you two finish, she always says, "thanks for ruining it," to which you singsong, "anytime, sevika."

and she hates to admit it, but you're funny, too. there've been several times where she's actually been rendered silent from just how good a comeback of yours was, or where you said something that caught her so off guard she nearly laughed in a moment where she was just annoyed.

and fuck her, you're so fine. so goddamn fine.

a notion that seizes at her when you come out of your bedroom one evening, dressed from head to toe in clothes she certainly has never seen you in before. clothes you'd surely never wear to work or when lounging at home.

she licks her lips, her mouth suddenly feeling very, very dry. "what-- where are you--?"

"putting myself out there." you shrug, idly stroking a palm along your head, smoothing your hair. "I mean, it always works for you. and, you're right, porn can only do so much. I think it's time for me to, you know, actually try to get with someone."

sevika's jaw clenches. like the fuck you will. "no."

"what do you mean 'no'?" you scoff, swinging your bag over your shoulder. "I can do whatever I want."

"well, I'm not letting you do this," she snaps, standing from her seat on the couch and rushing to block you from the door.

"why not?"

"because I--" she cuts herself off, teeth pressing in together as her mind is shaken with an influx of thoughts. because what can she even say? it's not just about wanting to fuck, not anymore. she's actually interested now. so interested that it's been weeks since she last brought a girl over. no point in doing so if her mind is filled with thoughts of you touching yourself to the noises, anyways.

you raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest. "yes?"

she leans in closer, propping a hand next to where your shoulders rest along the door. there's an inexplicable urge tugging her forwards to you, and she doesn't have it in her to resist it. "because I," she rasps, her voice low and scratchy, "I want you safe."

jesus, is she an idiot?

your face is deadpan, not a twitch of expression in sight. "you do it all the time. besides, how will I learn unless I'm out there, doing it?" after a beat skips between you two, you add, "unless you wanna come with?"

sevika snorts. "you really think I'm gonna watch you fuck about with some other people who don't deserve you?"

you brace your head against the plane of the door, eyes tracing over her face, making sevika's skin tingle in response. "then, who does?" you mutter quietly.

your tone is no longer flat. it's raised in pitch a bit, almost sounding hopeful. sevika swallows hard, her own body beginning to tense in anticipation. she latches onto that audible sign, using it to propel her forward until her lips are ghosting yours.

"me, you idiot."

and with that, she cups your face, drawing you into a soft kiss, your chapstick-smeared lips thick and slippery against hers.

roommate!sevika who makes you come so many times that night that you lose track. first with her head between your thighs, mouthing at your clit, fingers pumping into your hole as she spreads you loose and open. her lips wrap around the stiffened bud, drawing it in in tight, sharp sucks, the pressure of the movements making your legs tremble around her head, pressing into her ears without relent.

"damn, you trying to suffocate me?" she murmurs against your clit, the vibrations of her words making you whimper.

"it's what you deserve," you chuckle once the fog has cleared a bit, the noise dissolving into a whine when her tongue darts out, flapping over your clit with hard presses up and down, up and down.

"you're right," she hums, pressing a soft kiss to the spot just as her fingers curl up and begin stroking your g-spot, making streams of pleasure pulse from your pussy into your tummy, which tightens in anticipation. "I've been a dick to you, huh? I'll make it up to you tonight."

and make it up she does, her strap plunging into you and stretching your hole into a dull ache as her strong fingers hook onto her headboard, raising herself over you as your hips smack together. the mix of lube and your juices send filthy little squelches flowing through the room, and the noise only adds to the whirlwind of pleasure she's throwing you into without pause.

when she kisses you hard, making you whine as her fingers wrap around your throat and her tongue shoves into you, you can't resist quipping through your moans, "gotta say -- those girls had a point."

she chuckles against your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip. "and I was going easy on them. just wait till I'm done with you."

roommate!sevika who wraps her arm around you when smoking her cigarette afterwards. after lying together with nothing but some faded music playing in the background for a few minutes, she presses a tentative, slow kiss to your head, muttering, "I wish I had started talking to you earlier on."

you blink in surprise from the words, the tenderness of the moment sending a flood of emotions through you. you don't want to sound needy, but now that the topic has been brought up, a part of you aches for reassurance, wishing for the hollow part of you her initial avoidance had bore to be filled. "was it because I seemed uninteresting, or...?"

"no, no," she immediately cuts in, her voice hard. "I just wasn't interested in bonding with any roommate. never have been." her nails gently skim along your arm, and her voice lowers before confessing, "I thought you were sweet, though."

that sends satisfaction pumping through you, and you need to purse your lips together to halt a wide smile from breaking over your face. "yeah?"

"yeah, until you started being a little fucking menace," she whispers with a grin, her hand snaking down to squeeze your ass, a motion which nearly sends you moaning.

"hey, you started it with your panty-stealing girl."

"my panty-stealing girl?" she asks incredulously, her chin pointing down to shoot you a wide-eyed look. "you think I'm gonna call anyone mine except you now?"

feeling suddenly bashful from the bold declaration, you nuzzle into her neck, your face heating up. "I don't know."

"huh, you know, you're cute like this. docile, quiet--"

"oh, fuck off."

she laughs, lightly pinching your arm, which sends you squealing. "eh, I knew it only could've lasted so long."

"like you'd have it any other way."

she takes a drag, the corner of her lips curling up. "got a point there."

no sentences and/or parts of my writing are allowed to be reposted or reused without explicit permission or credits given.

[leidensygdom]

Okay, we all know about the usual warlock-patron dynamics. Creature with god-like powers tries to do their bidding or further their plans through a mortal, who is often going to be troubled by the pact. But, I'm here to propose some alternatives, specially for warlock deals that aren't inherently very harmful to the warlock themself:

This one is pretty typical, but the patron is a family member. If sorcerers can get cool powers from having a dragon grandpa, your fire genasi can have an auntie who is a big fire elemental who is trying VERY hard to connect with her family now, so she gives her nephew an allowance in the form of a Genie Pact

Your patron is undead (and your pact is Undying), but this person is not some power-hungry lich. This is someone you knew in life: A friend, or perhaps a partner. You had fought for a common cause, and they met their death trying to see the end of it, but they refused to leave you alone. Now, within you, their stubbornness has kept them from moving on, and they lend their newfound powers to help you in your common cause.

It's an eldritch entity, a creature beyond your comprehension. Your pact is that of a Great Old One. However, this creature doesn't quite have very concise plans to bring the end of the world- You're actually pretty sure it isn't even from your world. As time goes on, and as you realize their whims seem erratic, you realize that this thing you get powers from is... Probably the cosmic equivalent of a child. Maybe it's still cocooning in the depths of a distant dying planet. And it's incredibly bored. Someday, maybe, they'll terrorize the universe, but right now, they just really want you to be their eyes on another world. Call it enrichment.

Okay, this one is a fiend. Unequivocally so. But truthfully, they couldn't care less about your world, and you're not particularly concerned about what is going down in theirs. They kinda need few things done in your plane, few resources gathered, some people talked to, and between the lines, you realize that your newfound... ally is actually trying to oppose their boss or whatever. This one is a deeply legal-minded fiend, as far as you know: The hellish equivalent to a bureaucrat, after really digging around. Your party is convinced they will turn on you sometime, but eventually you realize you're just helping something that, for a lack of a better word, has to be an infernal-equivalent of an union effort.

That sword you picked was definitely cursed, and the voice within it has been calling to you. Eventually, you lend them your ear, and now you have an Hexblade pact. But this creature isn't bloodthirsty, nor talking to you about soaking their blade with your foes' guts. Truthfully, they hate being a sword. Trapped there as part of a vengeance, perhaps, this thing longs for freedom. And it has been used for evil in the past- Maybe the overabundance of skull motifs in their physical vessel didn't help. But this creature just wants to be able to experience a life that has been robbed from them. Your party may raise an eyebrow at you getting friendly with the possibly-malignant sword, but y'all are just making plans to get them to your favourite restaurant once they're freed.

This Archfey is the descendant of a powerful entity in Feywild side of things. The heir of some great lineage, or whatever is going on within their realm. You frankly don't know, because they're a bit of a... brat. One that kinda longs to escape their situation and get to live something more normal. You only find out this over time, when you realize you're kinda that friend their parents frown about. This entity, powerful beyond comprehension, just really wants to hang out with you and have a board game night with you. They'd love to meet your besties-- I mean, your world-saving allies. And you'd love to give them the opportunity someday, truth be told, but pissing off a fey court seems to be a high price.

You got stranded far into the ocean as a kid, and the rest of the people involved in the shipwreck did not make it out. But you attracted the attention of a group of merfolk, who had barely ever had the chance to meet someone like you. People had told you tales of how they'd drown and eat anyone coming into their territory, but these creatures were instead cooing about you. You're now grown up, and you can call them for power. Your party frowns at the idea of "I kinda got adopted by a sea polycule and I got a cantrip and few other boons about it", but you know they'll have to eat their words when you bring them for dinner- If you can find a way to table them in the middle of the ocean, that is.

the celestial patron is still a dick tho

Feel free to add onto these if you'd like, I'd love to hear concepts >:3

[ladykailitha]

You're a Dream to Me Part 1

I've been really struggling with Dragon Slayer and trying to get it so that it makes sense, so I'll be cycling in some of the other WIP I have in the wings until I can get it sorted out.

I thought I had another week to try and get the kinks ironed out, but I didn't.

And it ends on a bit of cliffhanger, though not the cliffhanger I original had. Which means that the NEXT chapter will ALSO have a cliffhanger. Once I get the kinks worked out of that chapter.

I hate it when stories fight me. I haven't had one this bad since the first soulmate story "Batshit Soulmates". But I will not abandon it. It just will take longer to come out then originally planned.

So! You're getting this one instead! It has a very lovely backlog and it's a great time to start putting it out because it's Valentine's Day month!

The title comes from The Cranberries song of the same name.

Summary: In a world where dreams show your true soulmate when you need them most, Steve has been having his for years but because his soulmate isn't ready yet, he's never seen what his soulmate looks like. Eddie has been having dreams about Steve Harrington since high school but more in the vein of wet dreams rather than soulmate. But when Brian's soulmate turns out to be a sweet girl who hadn't heard a heavy metal song in her life, suddenly Eddie realizes he needs to stop expecting his soulmate to look a certain way.

~

Soulmates. The world was filled with them, but only when you needed them. So there were people who went about the world without a single dream or vision. That was how you knew who they were. You would start dreaming of a person and that would be your soulmate. But only when both of you were ready.

Which meant that sometimes one soulmate went without for awhile, but the knowledge of their soulmate being out there was enough to keep them going. Sometimes they married other people or dated around. There was none of this “waiting” for their soulmate. People lived their lives as normal.

People who were married when they discovered their soulmates had a lot of options, including polyamory. Because sometimes the soulmate was platonic.

Steve had been so sure his was platonic because he started having dreams of his soulmate right out of high school, around the time he started working with Robin at Scoops Ahoy! but she knew her soulmate. Vickie Cameron. They were super sweet together.

Steve had seen all his friends get their soulmates, the hardest had been Nancy and Jonathan, because Nancy hadn’t told him she had been dreaming of her soulmate. She just told him in a drunken slur that their love was bullshit and then proceeded to sleep with Jonathan before Steve and her had even officially broken up.

Then he met Robin and for all their connectiveness, they weren’t soulmates. A thought that vexed Robin greatly. She thought it was the universe’s greatest sin that it didn’t see the chaotic potential of the two of them.

Dustin had come home the summer Steve had met Robin all rosy-cheeked and smiling. He had met his soulmate, Suzie Bingham and she was everything bright and beautiful in the world. Steve had patted him on the back, grateful that he hadn’t been left out of his friend group. And while the others hadn’t soulamated yet, but it was a pretty sure thing that Max and Lucas were soulmates and that at least two points of the Mike, Will, and El love triangle were soulmates.

It would be a year before it shook out that it was Will and Mike, as El didn’t seem to need a soulmate. Mike had had some internalized homophobia he had to battle first before he could accept that his soulmate wasn’t El, but Will.

It would be another two years before Max and Lucas sorted it out. It was their senior year and Max realized that the only person she wanted to spend her life with was Lucas and the universe confirmed it for them. Lucas had been having his dreams since they met, but they only solidified when she accepted that their love was real.

Steve’s dreams of his soulmate had always been hazy. He would dream of them curling up behind him in bed and pressing kisses to his neck or just star gazing. Those were his favorite, when they would just lay on the top of some, he assumed trailer or RV, and just talk for hours. He couldn’t hear their voice, or see their face, but he was almost 98% sure they were a man.

When he had told his parents they had scoffed. Gay soulmates were a myth made up by degenerates and deviates trying to push their agenda down everyone else’s throats. But as his father ranted and raved, Steve watched his mother. She would nod and agree, but the light behind her eyes was gone.

He strongly suspected that her soulmate was a woman, but she didn’t dare toe the line. Steve honestly felt sorry for her. And whoever her soulmate was, waiting her not to be homophobic.

It was a stormy night when his first clear dream happened. Steve’s job at the bookstore had kept him late and he had fallen face first into his pillow, with only kicking off his shoes and removing his belt.

It started out like it normally did. Steve was in a large bed in the trailer/RV snuggled up into the piles of blankets and comforters. The rain had carried through to the dream and pounded against the metal roof of their home. His back was to the door.

The front door opened and Steve could hear the sound of rain intensify and then return to its soft pattering as the door closed behind whoever had come in. Steve could hear the jangling of the guy’s belt and chains, he supposed, as the man undressed.

Then he slipped under the covers and pulled Steve close. “Hey, Stevie,” the warm voice murmured and in Steve’s drowsy state in the dream he didn’t even realize he understood what was said for the first time.

Kisses pressed against the back of his neck and Steve smiled fondly. He turned in his dream and snuggled in close. He buried his head into the soft curls at the nape of his soulmate’s neck and sighed happily.

“Someone is snuggly tonight,” the man rumbled.

But before Steve could raise his head to press a kiss to the underside of his soulmate’s jaw, suddenly there was a blazing alarm going off in his head and he was jolted awake.

But just like every other soulmate dream he had the memories of which came flooding back in the moment he could think straight.

“Holy shit!” He dove for his phone and immediately called Robin.

“Steven Abernathy Harrington,” she groused groggily into her phone, “you better have a good reason for waking me up before dawn on my day off.”

“I heard my soulmate in my dream last night.”

Then he counted down in his head, bobbing his head with it. Five, four, three, two, one...

“What?!” she screamed. “Are you fucking with me right now? No, don’t answer that. This is too important for you to lie about. And it’s definitely a guy?”

Steve hummed in the affirmative, biting on his thumb. “He sound so super sweet, too. It was warm and rumbly and I almost want to say familiar.”

There was silence on the line for a beat or two. “So maybe someone you already know?”

“That’s what it felt like,” Steve confirmed. “It was like I finally came home at last. I just wonder what happened in his life to be ready for a soulmate when he wasn’t before.”

Robin tsked. “There is no need for that kind of talk,” she huffed. “That will just lead down a dark path. It doesn’t matter why it took him so long. He’s ready now. Or at least more ready than he was before. But you’ll just have to keep dreaming of that lover boy of yours.”

“Thanks, Rob,” he murmured. “You’re bestest friend a guy could hope for.”

“And don’t you forget it,” she teased. “Now, excuse me while I go back to bed and sleep.”

“Sleep well.” He ended the call and pressed the phone against his lips. He wanted to go back bed and dream more. But he had store to open and a job to do. One he loved, no less. So reluctantly he got out of bed to start his day.

~

Eddie woke up that morning feeling like he’d been hit by a truck. He wished he could blame it on a hangover from partying all night, but no. He had crashed face first into his pillow from the long ass drive they had taken to get into Dayton the second he had gotten checked-in.

He rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. He had dreamed about Steve Harrington. Again. This crush was getting wildly out of hand. But then it had been since he watched Billy Hargrove and him playing against each other in a skins game. Steve was on the skins team and hooboy.

Those shorts sat a little too low on his hips to be decent and the towel tucked into the back of them sought to bring them even further down. It was fucking sinful.

The dream had started as they always had, him slipping into his bedroom in his Uncle Wayne’s trailer and taking off his clothes. But then the dream changed from the usual hot sex to Steve cuddling up under his chin.

Eddie had gotten breathless from the idea of Steve initiating the sex for the first time in the dream when suddenly there was a knock on his door jolting him awake.

The knocking persisted, forcing him to his feet. He shuffled over to the door and swung it open, rubbing his eyes.

On the other side of the door was his manager, Chrissy Cunningham. He raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

“Just what the fuck do you call this time?” she hissed at him, pushing him into the hotel room. “We have to be at sound check in an hour. Hurry and get your shower, I’ll have clothes ready for you when you get out.”

Eddie hurried to do as he was told. He must have forgotten to set his alarm before pillow diving. He scrubbed his face in the shower, trying to get the dream out of his head. But it lingered in a way the didn’t normally.

He dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist. “Sorry, Chris. I must have either forgot to set the alarm or I slept right through it.”

Chrissy pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “I know. You’re usually so good at it. So I’m not mad, just frustrated because we’re running late.”

Eddie nodded and then turned around to drop towel and scrambled to put on the clothes she had laid out for him and then ducked back into the bathroom to do his hair. With his insistence to keep it long, it was a bit of hassle to keep it from frizzing out. Then he was ready.

Once they were in the car that would be taking them to the venue, Chrissy leaned over and asked, “Hey are you okay? You aren’t usually late.”

Which was true, despite all of the ADHD-ness of all of him, he was stickler for being on time, early if he could help it.

He shook his head. “Dreams, man. Some dreams just knock you out until they’re done with you.”

Jeff rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Meaning he was too embarrassed to answer the door because he had another wet dream of...” his voice went falsetto, “Steve Harrington!”

“Fuck off!” Eddie snarled. He knew that it was a long running joke with his other bandmates, but today it felt like it crossed a line.

Jeff blinked at him for a moment. “Okay, definitely didn’t come if he’s that grumpy. Shit, dude, no need to rip my head off.”

“I’d have to attest to the not coming,” Chrissy said with a gentle elbow in Eddie’s side to show that she was joking, “he looked all cute and sleep rumpled this morning. I know the ‘no longer horny’ look, and this wasn’t it.”

“But it’s still obvious he dreamed of Steve,” Brian huffed with a barely suppressed smile. “He’s got that far away look in his eyes that he only gets when he thinks about his loverboy.”

Eddie just rolled his eyes and pulled out his earbuds. He stuck them in his ears and turned up his music as loud as he could, staring out the window.

Jeff and Chrissy glanced at each other and grimaced. Whatever this was with Eddie, it wasn’t usual Eddie drama.

“So is your soulmate coming to the concert, Bri?” Chrissy asked, choosing to ignore the brooding Eddie for the moment. “I can have the box office comp a couple of tickets if you wanted.”

Brian brightened up. “That would be great! Sophie was saying that she’d never been to a live concert before.”

“Man,” Gareth groaned throwing back his head roughly against the seat cushion. “You really lucked out on the soulmate department. Sophie is sweet, hot, and bakes like a fucking pro!”

Brian shook his head. “It’s not my fault your soulmate is a diva. Like the real lucky one is Jeff who got his like right after we got a record deal. She’s been his ride or die like the whole time.”

Jeff sighed happily. “I really, really did. I wish she could have made it out this tour, but gestating twins isn’t easy being in one place, I can’t imagine doing it on the road.”

Gareth kicked the seat between Chrissy and Eddie. “We all thought it was going to be you and Eddie for sure.”

Eddie just sneered and went back to gazing out the window. He had too. Chrissy was everything he thought he wanted in a soulmate. Yeah, she was a former cheerleader, but she liked heavy metal and was a perfect mix of sweet and sassy. She never put up with his bullshit but was there when he hit his lowest point.

But then Chrissy met her soulmate and Eddie was forced to reevaluate his whole life choices. Chrissy’s soulmate was a bassist for an all female metal band called Lilith’s Little Monsters. Georgia was a perky blonde in three inch heels and ripped denim.

That was when he realized he was gay. That liking the same gender was okay. So he went into the whole homosexuality feet first and swinging. He was so sure that the reason he hadn’t gotten his soulmate dreams yet was because he had thought it was a girl, but when Georgia came screaming into their lives at Hellfest last year, he still didn’t start receiving them.

But that was before sweet Sophie came into their life. She wasn’t a metalhead like Miranda or Georgia nor a musician like Leon, Gareth’s soulmate. Leon played violin in an alt rock band. Which was still pretty badass. He was also a bit of a bitch, but that’s what happens when your soulmate was Gareth Hughes. Sophie would absolutely be mistaken as a soccer mom and president of the PTA. She radiating wholesome vibes, which Brian absolutely needed in his life.

That his soulmate could be anyone really opened Eddie up to the endless possibilities. And fuck wasn’t that a kick in the head.

~

Tag List: TEN SLOTS REMAINING

1- @itsall-taken @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @irregular-child @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[starconstruction]

Equilibrium and The Beginning of the End

Yena x Male Reader(smut)

Part 3 of Hypothermia and The Cosmos

read part 1 and part 2 if you havent already :)

thanks for all the support on the previous two parts!

smut tags: ass eating (f receiving) , blowjob, riding, soft, throatpie, cum on body

WC: 4087

feel free to send me asks! i'll happily answer most of them!

not proofread

The abyss of the vast array of space was more comforting than the last time you two, you'd begun a voyage towards anywhere. She was the commander of the ship, sat in her chair, fiddling with controls on her complicated array. You were taking inventory again, the fight on those planets dwindled vital resources, food, water and fuel was no issue. The problem came with the lack of entertainment for the potentially endless expedition. You walked towards Yena, clanking metal as your hand coiled around her chest.

"How's it going Yenie" you teased, a silly nickname to break the thick emptiness of space.

A light slap came to your chest, her face scrunching in her soft features as she grimaced about the abhorrent nickname, "You are never calling me that again, understand?" she replied, her voice a mockery of seriousness as she pretended to be offended.

"It's going good Y/N! Can you believe it?! We are back on track, and your alive!" Her energy was contagious, a smile appearing on your face as she hopped around in her chair. Hitting a tiny dance as Yena celebrated your joined success, god she was truly perfect.

Her hands returned to the console, hitting buttons and pulling levers, colours lighting up as she performed tech magic. You felt a seed of pride bloom in your chest as you watched her movement, none of it made sense to an observer, only those who studied the books of the Technocrat from old earth. Something Yena referenced a lot, from what you could gather it was a legendary pilot who invented easier space travel before the world went dark with smog.

Yena finished her button mashing, kicking herself out of the chair. Approaching you, arms wrapping around your neck as she gave you a quick peck on the lips, pulling away as quickly as she arrived.

"Come onnnn! It's in autopilot, let's go cuddle!" she pleaded, dragging you by your arm as she pulled you towards your makeshift couch, the pillows from the company provided beds. Multiple blankets laid down on the ground. Covering up the cold metal of the ship floor. What really made the setpiece was the plushies Yena had in her box, seemingly endless as she stored more and more unauthorised items that came to light.

Yena pulled you down, your body made contact with the soft blankets. Pressing backwards into the pillows, Yena followed as she sat down next to you. You threw the thickest blanket you two found over each other, the soft cotton bounced the shared body heat around. You two were in relative bliss, Yena leaned into your body, head against your chest. Looking down as your arm draped over her shoulder. Her body naturally fit into yours as you two stayed connected like two puzzle pieces.

Yena was the first one to break the silence, adjusting to get more comfortable. "So, I was thinking, maybe I can figure where they went, yknow the other people?" she said.

"You think they're still alive?" You replied.

"I mean, if we landed with no engine chances are they landed with one." her hands rubbed circles on your leg absentmindedly as she pondered.

"You're probably right, we could have a look. Civilisation isn't going to rebuild with just two of us."

Yena gave a small nod from her position and you two sat there, bodies interlinked as you enjoyed each other's company. For the first time not against an arctic inferno, a planet that wanted everything dead. A memory that strengthened your bond together.

Hours passed sitting there, the expanse of space gave you two all the time in the world, you two were both burning up in the climate of your intimacy, neither of you two wanting to be the one to break the connection, but both of you wanting to get out of the scorching hug. You broke your connection, lifting Yena away as you stood up, going off to do whatever.

Yena fiddled with the strange terminal on the side of the ship, something you couldn't even read. Glyphs that Yena tapped and observed as a diagram of a ship came up. It was a life like model that wasn't entirely too dissimilar, fingers pressing into the screen, moving the model of the ship looking for something. You watched in awe as she did her magic, she was truly incredible and you couldn't stop repeating it.

"Ah hah!" she beamed, "I've got a lock on their location" tapping as an image of the planet appeared, how much strength was reliant on this engine? It looked similar to an image of a poster of old earth, dominantly green with trees cut through with a deep blue, creating swirls around the image. A potential home for you and Yena.

Your leg surged up in pain as you fell to the floor, propping yourself against the wall of the space craft, a expression of worry etched into Yena's face as she came down to sit next to you. Skin touching as her hands enveloped yours. "It's gonna take a few earth days to reach their orbit, I'll take care of you until then." she smiled brightly at you.

"Thank you, my love" you replied.

-

You woke up sometime later, unable to identify how long it's been by the lack of any sun, similar to your time on old earth. A strange noise filled the ship, the sound of metal tearing other metal apart and forging something new. Large sparks flew out through the air, Yena was working on something, clearly an active mind.

"What ya working on Yena?" you asked, limping as you approached her workstation.

"it's a rock smasher thing. Names still pending yknow?" she replied, picking up the framework of her creation, lifting it to the light. A large wooden handle was resting between her hands, thin scraps of metal residing around some stone from the mine you two found the engine stone.

" I see, needed something to do?"

"Yeah, we got a few days. I thought I'd make one so we can do whatever we need to build our new home."

"Good idea Yena. Let's hope all goes well"

-

Excess fuel burned as your ship dived down into the atmosphere of the hopeful planet, the darkness of space replaced by the brightness of the sky, a strange pastel green. This planet was much larger and lively than the previous, dark green leaves spotted over the wide green plains, this planet was so green.

A small ship could be seen as you two descended lower, the signs of life obvious as wooden buildings laid around it. Herds of cattle enjoying the grass as they roamed near the tiny village. You two lowered down beside it, a puff of smoke consuming the floor as you two landed.

The air was crisp and refreshing as you two landed, walking down onto the grass, weapons in your bags as you walked towards the settlement made by the other flight crew members. It was much larger up close, giant wooden walls propped up everywhere as a massive watchtower observed over the centre. You two approached the gate, shoddily made out of wood and metal scraps.

"Hey! Boss it's them! The other two! Yeah I'll let them in to talk" The gatekeeper said, screaming at the top of his lungs to the mysterious "boss".

The gate was opened and you two walked in, holding hands as you followed the guard, there was a faint glimmer of hope within your heart, could this be the start of civilisation?

The guard had stopped in front of a door, it had a sign that read "Commanders office", Yena squeezed your hand in worry. The guard walked off without saying a word. Gesturing for you to go in.

Your hand pushed open the door, giving way to the office, silent for the scratching of pencil, a familiar face was sat at the desk. The other pilot, the one that nearly cost you and Yena's life. Anger boiled inside as your hand clenched into a ball.

The pilot looked up, a sense of surprise filled his face. Pencil dropping against the desk as he sat backwards, smugness radiating from him.

"Oh. You made it, congratulations." Sarcasm dripped from his voice thickly like poison. You could feel Yena's anger pooling up by the way she gripped your hand. Before you could intercept she fling at him, jumping over his desk as she slammed him into the wall. A strong thud shaked the wall with tremendous force.

"You fucking asshole! We could have both died before you couldn't drive! Did you not learn or were you too busy to pay attention?!" Her arm pressed further into his neck, his fear evident as he struggled to breathe. Yena looked so hot when she was angry, but she couldn't kill him or else you'd both be fucked.

" Yena, lay off a bit honey. We won't be able to do anything if we both get killed." You said, keeping your voice soft. You could feel the tension lighten as she softened her impact.

"Get your fucking hands off me, you lived. No big deal, now. If you want to talk business, we can talk. If not, get off this planet before I get mad." He spat. You pulled Yena back into your arms.

He continued, "Good. You can listen, for the record we were playing spin the bottle. But if you want to help build the future. We could appreciate the help in getting more resources. Get out of my sight, bring back woods, metals whatever. Do it in the morning though, it's getting late. Don't want to run into revenants." God he spoke way too fucking much.

He kicked you out your office as you and Yena went back to the ship for tonight, hooking up your shower and sink to the local fresh water pond.

-

You and Yena were laying down on the makeshift couch again, the night sky coloured a strange pink as you two stared at it. No words have been shared in a few long minutes.

"I love you Yena" You let out accidentally.

"I know, honey you say it a lot." She replied, still staring at the sky.

"I know, I just think it is worth repeating, I love every inch of you Yena. I am so glad I met you."

"Every inch?"

"Every inch."

"In that case, theres something I want to try."

-

Yena was pressed up against the pillows of your "couch", clothes laid discarded to the side in a large pile. Legs spread open as she left herself open to your shared desires. Her arousal was irresistible, body open for your next move, one guided by her earlier confession of her interests. You rested just below her, body next to the inches she wanted you to prove you loved.

You reached your destination, locking eyes with hers as you took your first lick of her asshole, starting slow, teasing her as you breathed in her body wash. The same company provided scent from infi-soap. Mixed with her arousal, creating an intoxicating cocktail of scents you couldn't get enough of. Your licks remained slow and deliberate as you circled her asshole, becoming wet with your saliva as she let out delicate gasps.

"Hmmm fuck.. That's really good.." Yena let out, her voice breathy and empty.

You kept licking, getting more ambitious as your had moved up to her clit, rubbing softly, soft gasps turned into loud moans as they pierced your ears. A sweet chorus filling the room. Your mind was clouded with only thoughts of her as you devoured her awaiting asshole.

Minutes passed as you two enjoyed each other, your tongue grew tired as she grinded her cunt against the bridge of your nose, you could feel her closeness, legs tightening on your shoulders.

"Fuck! Y/N baby, I'm gonna cum fuck!" she screamed, her orgasm hit her like a fright train as her body stopped moving, your tongue kept moving while she came undone. Moans slowed down as the world came to a halt.

"Every inch Yena, I told you." You said cheekily.

"Y-Yeah. I think I've got that" she replied, struggling to get the words out.

You didn't bother to tell her about the agonising pain in your leg.

-

The first major expedition to find resources begun the next morning.

The brisk air wrapped around the trees, endless forests were in front of you. Strange yellow and black creatures flew between the large trees, landing on a small lilac flower. You limped behind Yena, she carried both axes while you held onto food, small scraps incase someone got hungry.

"Here, There's a good amount of wood and I don't see anything dangerous, let's get cutting" She said, an axe suddenly appeared in your hand.

The wood was difficult to cut, leverage was difficult as every swung nearly knocked you over due to the instability of your leg. Worry filled your body, if it came to it. Could you save the person you loved?

You looked over at Yena, already on her sixth tree as you hadn't even cut your first, her elegance was undeniable as each swing was optimised to cut wood down in as few strokes as possible. Leaving nothing but logs in her wake.

Your axe penetrated the surface of the wood, slicing it in half as it fell into the ground, another slice, dividing it again as your arms burned. The wood finally divided into pieces of usable material that could be reshaped, picking it up as you moved to the next one.

-

You and Yena finished cutting wood for the day, but you didn't go home yet. Pulling out the blanket from your food box Yena made out of spare materials on board the ship. Laying it down gently on the ground.

You two took some bread and cheese out the box, food generously given from one of the nice members of the settlement. Yena sat crosslegged, combining the food together as she took a bite, face beaming with joy as she ate non-bland food for the first time in weeks.

She brought the food to your mouth, pressing it against your lips as you opened, accepting Yena's offer, the crunch of the bland bread contrasting the salty cheese. It tasted divine, most likely because you shared it with Yena.

You two sat in each others company, like most of your time. Not a single day since this expedition had you removed from Yena, and you liked that.

Yena pouted slightly, "Are you not going to offer me food?" her voice whiney as she made pleading eyes. Your hands reached towards the food as she slapped them away.

"No, not that food... I want something a bit more.. Personal" Her hand went to your crotch, pressing it slightly as she looked into your eyes.

"God your insatiable" You chuckled as you gave her easier access. Kicking the basket out the way to not spoil the meal.

"You love me for it."

"I love you for everything."

She smiled as her hands started to undo your pants, unzipping them quickly as she tried to free you from your confines. Pulling them down and leaving them half way down your legs, her eyes locking with yours as she made out with your clothed tip, saliva wettening the fabric as she teased you. She moved up, her teeth grabbing the waistband of your underwear, pulling it down in one delicate motion as your rigid shaft went out to greet her. Tapping her nose slightly.

Her hand gripped your base, the sudden feeling caught a shocked gasp out of your throat. She licked at your tip rapidly, several short bursts of pleasure ruptured out of the spots she blessed with her holy tongue, contrasting the sinful actions she administered.

She went lower, performing longer more deep strokes of her tongue. Licking up and down as she pressed your dick firmly against her tongue, her mouth releasing delicate hums as she reveled in your pleasure. Her head game has improved tenfold from her first time by that campfire. Her spare hand going down to rub your balls, compartively like ice compared to the warmth of her mouth. Slowly rubbing in circles as it brought you further into heaven.

Your hips instinctively thrusted into Yena's mouth as her lips were penetrated by your length, sucking her cheeks in as her walls pressed into your cock. Her hands moved away, pressing against your back. Providing enough leeway to press her mouth to the hilt, a few soft gags cams out her mouth. Bobbing up and down as she dragged her mouth from the top to the bottom. Slamming violently against your crotch, tears cropping against her eyes as she gave you the best head of your life.

Your hands grasped at her hair, finding leverage in the silky strands, thrusting stronger as she braced your impact, you knew you weren't going to last any longer, holding her into your base as you shot ropes of semen down her throat. Giving her the meal she wanted.

Her face withdrew, spit connecting you two as she caught her breath. Smiling slightly as she stroked your sensitive length, trying to prevent it from softening. You let out painful gasps as she continued.

"Thanks for the meal" She smiled, before hastily removing the bottom half of her outfit, leaving her cunt fully exposed to nature, you immediately felt ready to go again. The song of nature was playing in your ears, sounds of birds and the wind all around you. It was beautiful, you never got to hear this before. Old earth had no birds when you arrived, all long since dead due to the lack of oxygen.

You were took back out of your thoughts as Yena hovered over you, pressing down impatiently as she took you inside her, her walls gripping on you tightly, you two let out a shared moan with the overpowering sensation, thrusting upwards. Meeting her halfway as you ignored the pleading from your leg.

She leaned forward, clothed breasts in front of your face as Yena kept bouncing, there were no words for her beauty, no words for the shared passion you two engaged in. You greedily pulled off her shirt, Yena providing assistance as you threw it over her head. Taking her bra off revealing her boobs. Something you've indulged in countless times, each time a spectacle as you took one into your mouth. Holding her close as you sucked intensely, moans launching out her mouth as she kept bouncing. Keeping the same pace for several minutes, feeling like hours as you enjoyed the pleasure.

Your hands ran down to her ass, providing firm squeezes as you played with her flesh. Alternating minor slaps between her cheeks, every inch of her was perfect.

"Ugh, oh my god! Y/N, I'm cumming!" Her pussy gripped on you even tighter than before, squeezing you roughly as she came undone.

You felt the familiar pressure creeping all you, shuddering as you pulled her off. Frantically stroking your shaft up and down as you dribbled semen all over her midriff, some splashing on her breasts. You two smiled as you admired the specs of white on her body.

"God, Yena you are incredible.. I love you" You said.

"I know I know, goofball. Let's get home so we can clean up." She replied, putting her clothes on, ignoring the semen that pressed onto her shirt. Picking up her things and you two walked home.

-

Weeks passed as you two provided contributions to the growing society, providing materials that made new buildings, everyone now had their own personal home. Including you and Yena, you two chose to live in the same one. The house was cozy, constructed out of the wood you two had gathered, taking the parts out the ship that was viable to slot into your new home. The main improvement was the bed, significantly bigger than the ones the company had provided, Yena had done her usual decorative work on it, putting the plushies she had earlier on the sides.

The village felt full of life, everyone got along with you two except the boss. Who seemed to still resent you. But you two were happy.

You two completed several resource hunts, but you were always warned to never go out at night. You two were already inseperatable, only tightening together more by the time you spent.

-

You and Yena were sleeping, the day long over as you two rested in each others arms. "AHHHHH! FUCK THERE'S A LOT OF THEM! GET BACK" The loud sounds of screams tore you from sleep, shaking Yena frantically out of dreamland, looking at you in confusion as she rubbed her eyes.

The screams grew louder, "Yena, we've gotta get out there!" you two jumped into action, limping to your desk as you grabbed your knife. Yena right behind you with her axe, desperately opening the door as the sights petrified you.

Light fixtures knocked over as strange beasts approached the village, they were a deep brown, covered in horrific amounts of fur. Large in stature as they towered over you, large sharp nails dug out from their hands. They slowly charged the heart of the village, ready to wreck destruction in their path.

You looked at the gate, undamaged but open. Shit.. "Yena! The gates open, they'll keep coming if we don't get it closed!" You yelled. She nodded as you two started to rush towards it. Another scream rippled out from the other side of the village "HELP! WE CAN'T HOLD THEM OFF!" You two stood at a crossroads, they couldn't die. "Yena, listen to me! Help them! I'll get the gate! Go!" You commanded, she ran off in their direction.

A storm broke out overhead, loud tears of thunder as rain dropped down overhead, drenching the dirt floor, saturating it in water creating a thick mud. Every step stuck to you as you desperately pushed forward to the gate. Approaching the large structure, monsters came into frame out the woods. It was now or never, grabbing onto the handle. Struggling against the wet floor as you pulled it towards the right.

You were nearly done, just a bit closer..

A large hand appeared in the small crevice left in the gate, grabbing onto your arm as it cut through your clothes. The surge of water even colder as it landed against your skin. You pulled out your knife, struggling against the grip of the monster, you panicked. Jabbing against the vein of the monster as you tried to get away. It roared in pain as your knife went further in, dark maroon poured out the wound as you stabbed again, and again, it resisted against your actions.

One final jab and the monster's arm withdrew out the gate. Slamming the gate against the wall as you let out a sigh of relief, grabbing a small plank of wood to trap the handle. Slashes of claws banged out through the gate, it'd hold, it would have to hold.

"HELP!!!! SHIT!" It was Yena, your heart dropped as you turned. Her neck was being held by one of the disgusting monsters, desperately struggling against it's grasp. You ran towards her, knife at the draw. The burning singe of pain in your leg knocked you into the ground, coating your clothes in a thick sludge of mud as you couldn't move. Yena was in danger and you couldn't do anything.

"Get off her!" You looked up, the boss dived a knife into the monsters knee, a large wail came from its throat as it threw Yena into a wall. A large crash rolling out as she fell unconscious, tears pickled at your eyes as you tried to hold it together.

The monster jabbed it's claws into the head of the pilot as his knife slit the monsters throat. Falling down together in a pile of death. The village went quiet, only the sounds of rain filled the air. The beasts by the gates no longer present as their roars disappeared.

You got up, entire body covered in mud as you frantically got to Yena. Her body slumped over against the wooden wall, you picked her up. "SECURE THE VILLAGE, IM GOING WITH YENA!" Carrying her over your shoulder. Bringing her home. The rage of the night now over.

Please be okay.

Yena.

----

A/N - part 4? Hope you enjoyed!

[thesunssin]

I’d love to absolutely yap about Gihun and Sangwoo and how Gihun is in this season so here it is ‼️ ( sorry for any spelling mistakes, English isn’t my first language 🙏)

I don’t see a lot of people really talk about just how much of an affect Sangwoo had on Gihun, especially on this season and how he takes his actions, and even the intentions behind it, but I’d love to go on about Gihun first.

Gihun was never a remarkable person, his life before the games was already in shambles. The company he worked under went on a strike, and that’s when he came in touch with death for the first time, witnessing a coworker die right infront of him when their workplace got attacked, the same day his wife gave birth, which he couldn’t attend, since then he’s been losing things more and more, his wife and daughter, and to cope with it all he turned to unhealthy ways, gambling and detaching from the pain by doing so. Lots of people say he was happier back then, but he was just ignoring all his issues. He’s stuck in the past, his mind refuses to register the pain he went through, and in turn to find a way to heal and work on his life. And being stuck on the past means attaching to things in his childhood, one indirectly being Sangwoo, considering he spends a lot of time with his mother. He knows his state, and indulges in it instead of pretending to be something else.

Sangwoo on the other hand, was the opposite of him. Which is everything Gihun admired in him, and everything Sangwoo envied in him. Gihun views him as someone remarkable, and obviously doesn’t shy away from saying so. But Sangwoo isn’t, and doesn’t believe so. Sangwoo his entire life was fixated on a image he wants to put out to the world, and does whatever it takes to do so, betting on everything and even his mother, who just like Gihun, views him as “ the pride of their hometown”. His methods of doing so however, were immoral and illegal, which caused him to be heavily in debt, a physical proof of his failure. Unlike Gihun, his coping mechanism simply is either money or nothing, to be something else or nothing, anything but himself, and something better than him. Because of his failure, he feels like an imposter in a suit, pretending to be everything he’s not, the image he so desperately wants to portray would falter infront of his mother, and already does infront of Gihun, so his instinct is always to run away from the past, to never go back to his hometown, to his mother, because of how ashamed he is of himself. Seeing Gihun again reminds him of everything he couldn’t be, and that reminder is a constant agony to Sangwoo.

Sangwoo envies the authenticity Gihun has, how he unapologetically connects with others in a death game, helps out Oh Ilnam, an old man who is deemed to be a weak link in a game where everyone is out to get each other, and how despite it all, he still keeps his humanity intact and doesn’t let it falter, how even though Gihun treated his mother horribly, he still had her love, while Sangwoo believes his mother only loves the image he put, not himself. Gihun is the only person who saw his image falter, in the scene where he asks him if he’d push him if it was him instead of the glass maker. Sangwoo breaks, immediately arguing back like a defensive child, his argument almost childish when he calls Gihun a “pea head” and a “dumbass”. When Sangwoo mentions how his entire life is pathetic, Gihun replies that he knows the state of his life, and asks why Sangwoo, the pride of their hometown, the graduate of SNU, is right here in the pits with him, despite their vastly different lives, to which Sangwoo replies with nothing. Gihun through the show realises more and more how insecure Sangwoo is, and in turn also perfectly broke down the image he was trying to hard to put to justify his actions. Sangwoo, probably because of the pressure of Gihun’s own admiration, feels like his actions if for the sake of Gihun’s, no matter what, is justified, which he tries to use when arguing with Gihun, but in reality, it’s his own desperation, his own need to present as something else than himself, if it means bringing worth to his life, which he deems meaningless.

When he tries to connect with someone authentically, that person being Ali, he finally tries to allow himself to be without guilt, to help without thinking of any ulterior motives, and to have a relationship that isn’t wholly transactional, but that ultimately shatters when he teams up with Ali, who he ends up actually using his skills ( intelligence and manipulation, which he wanted to use hand in hand with Ali for each other instead of against each other) and like his old clients, cheats and robs him after promising to help. A painful reflection of how Ali, who was always cheated off his money and used in his workplace in unjust ways, the people who were his bosses, now gets cheated off by someone who he used to call from boss to Hyung. That’s when Sangwoo ultimately reverts back to his mindset, that he should be striving to save himself, make worth for himself, to make the blood in his hands make sense, and for the guilt to be worth it in the end, but also sees how Gihun still helps others, how he still helped Saebyeok, and is filled with anger about how he can pretend that he doesn’t also have blood on his hands too, that they’re all gonna die because of each other, but he still moves in the same empathetic way, as if they can afford to be kind.

Season 1 to me really is about how circumstances change the people who you once knew, how capitalism and money twists people, and even the most innocent things to bloody. It’s best portrayed with two childhood friends, Sangwoo and Gihun, who once played together with just fun in their minds, the adrenaline and the joy of childhood innocence and childlike wonder in their minds, to playing the same games for money with life and death in their minds. I’d argue and say they’re both just overgrown kids, two who are stuck in the past, Gihun who refuses to accept it as it is, and stays behind, his personality almost childish and pathetic as a grown man, while Sangwoo who runs after his childhood dreams by any means, stuck in the image that’s already tainted with blood, his personality almost like an angsty teen who pretend to be older than he is, but both come from poverty, both struggling with money, and both their issues starting from that, which shaped them to be who they are, and turned them both to things they don’t recognise anymore when they reunited till and till their last moments together.

Maybe it’s my own point, but I believe that Sangwoo was relieved that Gihun hated him for that brief moments, that they’ve argued and fought, and that the image Gihun had of him was shattered, which in turn also freed him from his own lies and image he tried to convince himself too. He could finally feel angry without any restraint, without acting like he isn’t, without covering up his selfish desires and needs, and projects it all onto Gihun, absolutely shattering the image he tried so hard to keep infront of him on purpose. Their fight was brutal and lacked any real training, both not knowing how to fight properly, and their emotions speaking louder, their movements are sloppy and awkward, and Sangwoo, who’s way more brutal in this fight, gets a hold of the knife for longer and stabs Gihun, while Gihun who when he manages to get a hold of the knife ( which is impaled to his hand ) realises that he can’t complete his actions, Sangwoo realising so when he opened his eyes to see Gihuns sad ones looking back. When Gihun walks right to the very edge of the triangle of the squid, he realises that the money, all of it, would never be worth his friends life, his childhood friends life, waking back limping and bloody to ask the guard, referencing what Sangwoo said to use clause three and for both of them agree to stop the games and leave.

Sangwoos anger waters down with the rain puddles next to him, and he realises the irony of their place. The same two grown adults, who once used to play the same games, and as he says “ When we were younger, we used to play just like this and our moms would call us for dinner” the intensity of their fight, this one being bloody and violent, reflects on how they as kids would imagine their fights to be that intense and bloody, the adrenaline copying one of someone facing life and death, except they are now, and like Sangwoo says. “Nobody is calling us anymore” his voice here ( lovely detail from the actor thank you park haesoo!) broken like a child, and Gihun raises his hand to him, telling him that they can go him, that they will go home. All the anger they had seconds before now gentle and caring, all of it was always once love, all the anger was once love. Gihun gives him is pure clean hand, one without a drop of blood, while Sangwoo stretches his own bloody hand, one that isn’t tainted with his own blood, but the blood of others and the person above him, the one who’s other hand he impaled.

Gihun was so willing, so willing to make it all worthless. Everything they’ve been though, all the scars they got and had, all the deaths they’ve caused indirectly, directly, and witnessed from close or afar, the death of the people he cared for, even Saebyeoks, and his own bleeding wounds and stabs, all if it meant bringing back Sangwoo with him, he’d go penniless willingly, because he couldn’t truly blame him for everything, he couldn’t truly blame him for turning out the way he is, he admired him with his soul, loved him with every fibre of his being, and adored him and saw him as someone so remarkable and great despite it all, so he gave him his hand, his clean, untainted hand, as to tell him that he, Sangwoo, can taint it with all his sins, and he’ll still hold his hand, he’d still want him by his side. Sangwoo almost took it, almost. He wanted to let himself be, to accept that gentleness Gihun so willingly offered, and to accept the hands of his childhood friend.

That’s until he realises they won’t have a single penny for it all. That’s when he retracts his hand, and all he can do is apologise, to say sorry to his Hyung, as he stabs the knife through his neck without any remorse. In that moments, I think that’s when he realised the only way he can truly repay Gihun isn’t by taking his hand, but by leaving all the money for him, to repay his mother, to repay for Ali, Saebyeok, for all the people he caused to suffer, to repay it all with his life that was now worth 45.7B when the last person is eliminated. In the end of it all, he ignores even his own will to live and picks the most reasonable choice, letting his childhood friend win, not any random person, but Gihun. He knows him better than anyone, and within his last moments, calls out for his mother, asking Gihun to help her, to repay her in his behalf, because he couldn’t face her like this, he knows he wouldn’t be able to live with the weight of what he has done, even more-so without a single dim. But he knows Gihun wouldn’t forget him, he wouldn’t forget his mother, he wouldn’t forget his humanity, and he wouldn’t forget to care.

And so Sangwoo dies in a playground, dead in his childhood friends hands, a reflection of how everything he chased for as a kid died there too, and was always stuck in the same playground trying to prove his worth by winning.

By S2, Gihun painfully parallels everything Sangwoo was before the games. Both sharing even the same mother, who they both feel too ashamed and guilty to face, calling their families from a distance, and falling into deep depression, both sharing the same sense feeling like an imposter in their bodies for being things they aren’t ( both being wealthy, but gaining that wealth in unjust ways) their sense of worth less now and both suicidal. ( Sangwoo who tried to commit suicide in the bathtub, and Gihun who doesn’t hesitate to play Russian roulette and shoot himself) the only difference is the reason why they go back to the games.

Gihun in s2 even comes back to the games acting exactly like Sangwoo, even down to the two of them meeting someone from their past within it ( Sangwoo who met Gihun, and Gihun who now met Jungbae) but as vastly different people. Gihun uses what he had learnt directly from Sangwoo to help others ( The red light green light method, Mentioning the third clause, which was even filmed in the same space and manner, and telling others to hide before the fight broke out ) he’d always seen Sangwoo as an example of how to be, and admired him as a figure of something remarkable, so he, who already feels like an imposter in his body, who feels like he shouldn’t be the one who made it out, unconsciously begins to create an image of himself that reflects Sangwoos, one he saw as cold, intelligent, and was human despite it all.

Young Il, who Inho created, is an image of who Gihun wishes Sangwoo was. (Yes ik how that sounds lemme elaborate!) Young-il is someone who is equally as smart, someone who uses that intelligence to help the weaker, who thinks for the community, and is willing to help Gihun help others, unlike Sangwoo who limited his intelligence and help to just those who could also equally benefit him, who held back on trusting Gihun, and in the end acted on his own, and reduced Gihun’s humanity to weakness, something Gihun resented about Sangwoo, and something he sees in Young-il, who Inho knew how to build himself to be someone Gihun trusted, a familiar but strange new face. Oh but Gihun’s intentions aren’t so pure either, his guilt brought him back to the games, back to something he was stuck in, back to the past he can’t move on from and never will, his guilt drives him to think he needs to sacrifice himself for the games to end, even without any real aim or clear goal on how to, or even realising that the players will still suffer anyways, he believes his life will only gain worth if it’s used for something greater, similarly to how Sangwoo also believed his life would be worth something if he gained social status and money, something greater than himself. This time, Gihun gambles with the lives of himself and others ( the people who died for the plan) instead of horses.

Gihuns unwavering trust in others humanity, and in humanity itself, I’d say is purely because of Sangwoo. He witnessed him turn to so many things, from someone he so dearly admired, to a vile person who spat blood and killed for money, to hearing him never speak to him informally even in their angriest moments, and to crying in his arms, uttering out his mothers name as he calls him Hyung for the last time. Sangwoo, who taught him all he knew right now, couldn’t teach him how people could still be harmful, that trusting still blinds, and that being idealistic and naive isn’t good, because Sangwoo was human, Sangwoo wasn’t evil and irredeemable, he still cared for the boy he grew with, for the kid he found charming but annoyingly naive, for the kid who bragged about him every given chance, and for the same guy who he entrusted his mother to, the one who he drove all his actions for. And Gihun? He bet his entire life on that, on the shred of his cold image breaking to reveal his real vulnerability, on his humanity. And because Sangwoo showed him that, he now doesn’t believe anybody is truly evil, that they’re all victims of something bigger than themselves.

And so Gihun goes back to the games, going back to the place that his old self died in, and the one he doesn’t even know if he’ll survive in again, but is willing to gamble his life on ending it.

(sorry for how long I’ve yapped for! and if I’ve made any mistakes ❤️ please have some mercy on me! my English isn’t the best )

[meguwumibear]

dominant!zayne x submissive!reader

tw for light BDSM, bondage/shibari, sex toys (vibrator), fingering, and some minor angst. mc calls zayne sir like twice. if i've missed something else that needs a tag, just ask! nondescript female reader with a bit of a backstory, just to make her feel more connected to the world.

Additional Disclaimer: Takes place after the events of the main story (which I am not fully caught up on). Reader is NOT the game MC in this fic. In my mind's eye MC decided to romance one of the other characters and Zayne does what he can to move on.

and yes, zayne's harness in the fic is 100% inspired by his harnes in the new trailer

In 2034 the world you as you know it ends. It happens suddenly one mundane spring afternoon. A great, gaping maw opens in the cloudless blue sky above Linkon City, releasing a tidal wave of ferocious monsters unto the earth. Locals come to call the event the Chronorift Catastrophe. The world later discovers that the great, gaping hole in the sky was the appearance of the first ever Deepspace Tunnel which attracted alien beings now colloquially referred to as Wanderers.

Everyone in Linkon City remembers where they were that day. They remember what they were wearing and who they were with. A flashbulb memory, the psychologists call it. A memory that endures. A memory that persists.

Like most survivors, it isn’t just the red rain falling from the sky or the horrible sound of the earth splitting around you that you remember: it’s the actions you took to survive. The people you ran past. The neighbors you didn’t save. The hand you didn’t extend to the woman who tripped over her own two feet running from the creature. The debris you didn’t help remove from the body of the elderly man too weak to push the plank away without aid.

For three weeks you see a therapist. You’re an adult now, still plagued by nightmares of the event. You tell the woman you’re meeting with that you are suffering from memories. She tells you that your body needs to learn that the danger has passed. The problem with that logic? The danger hasn’t. Your body can’t stop secreting stress hormones when you daily lunch breaks are constantly interrupted by Metaflux monsters.

Your past becomes a prison. An inescapable cage. Your therapists asks how you would feel if someone flung open the doors for you. You tell her it would depend on who opened the door and what’s happening outside.

The session before you ghost your shrink, she asks you to practice breathing exercises. She prattles on and on about the importance of nervous system regulation in trauma recovery. Apparently exhaling is supposed to activate the “rest and digest” response—the antidote to the “fight and flight” response that your body is stuck in.  

And that’s all well and good but even twenty years later the Wanders keep manifesting in Linkon City in numbers that the Hunters can’t keep up with. You’d move, maybe, if you had the means, though you did read somewhere once that a scared animal will continue to seek out their home, even if their home is no longer safe.

So you find an alternative way to cope with the stress of the new world.

There’s budding red light district about an hour outside the city. You go sometimes on weekends to decompress. Your favorite haunt is a small BDSM club run by a couple of old widows who lost their husbands to the war. They verify ages at the door and ensure all the drinks at the place stay virgin.

You’re not heavy into the scene or anything—you actually have quite a few hard limits—it’s just…nothing else you’ve tried has helped you to shut off your brain. To shift your focus from the past to the present. To shut out all thoughts of Hunters and Protocores and Wanders.

The doms you’ve had up until this point were perfectly adequate; they listened diligently to what you were open to and respected all of your boundaries. You aren’t sure why you’ve never asked for a more consistent routine with any of them. Something, somehow, was always missing from the encounters.

There are a lot of new faces at the club tonight. Or, rather, there are a lot of faces new to you. The club has many regulars, but you don’t make the hike often enough to have them all committed to memory. Still, you’re certain you’ve never seen the tall, stoic man in a leather harness swarmed by a gaggle of women before. Despite the fact that he clearly has his pick of the litter, your gaze keeps wandering to his solid form. The way his abs flex when he breathes. The way his lips quirk when he talks.

He's halfway across the room but must somehow still feel the heat of your wandering gaze because after a few stolen looks he locks eyes with you. Your whole body flushes as he acknowledges you with a raise of his drink. The tips of your ears burn as he takes a healthy swig of the beverage without breaking the eye contact. It’s you who looks away first.

When you chance a glance back over, he’s excusing himself from the women who flocked to him like a tourist attraction to pick his way towards you. Your heart flutters anxiously as he closes in, and you have to remind yourself not to take a step back once he’s close enough to touch.

“First time?” he asks, voice smooth like ice.

“Ouch,” you reply, gripping your own water glass to ground yourself. “It’s not. Do I really look that unaware.”

His expression doesn’t change but his eyes move to assess you, “What are you drinking?”

Though his tone is relaxed you can’t help but feel as if the question has a correct answer.

“Just water.”

“Hmm,” he hums. “Something with electrolytes would be more efficient. If you’re looking for a session tonight, that is.”

“I don’t like the taste,” you tell him, trying to keep the glass in your hand from shaking as desire swells within you.

He frowns, “Without electrolytes, your body will dehydrate, no matter how much water you consume.”

“You a doctor?” you ask.

He hums in what sounds like confirmation before wrapping his hand around yours. “I take the health of the people I play with seriously. This is about much more than sex to me. I like when my partners eat three square meals a day and have an effective exercise regimen implemented.”

You don’t resist when he slips your water from your grasp. You also don’t hesitate to open your mouth when he raises his own perspiring glass to your lips. His fingers don’t even graze you as you swallow down the fruity liquid, yet you can feel your insides come alight as you obey. As your pussy begins to leak it becomes increasing clear to you that you would do just about anything to have this man dominate you tonight.

“Good,” he says once you’ve downed the drink. “Now, do you happen to have a list of what you enjoy and your hard limits on you?”

With shaky hands, you reach wordlessly into your bag to retrieve what the man has asked for. He spends a few moments skimming the contents before simply stating, “I believe we are compatible.”

You follow him to a private room near the back of the club and watch as he begins to gather some equipment for the session. Without turning to look at you he says, “I noticed that you have some experience with light bondage. I prefer to use traditional single ply shibari rope or silk as restraints. These two methods prevent chafing and other potential complications like skin lesions or rashes. Do you have a preference for today’s session?”

“No preference, uh…” you trail off, wondering what the man would like you to refer to him as.

Sensing what’s on your mind, he offers, “I have no preferred titles, but you may assign me one if you like.”

“No preference, Sir,” you say, watching the man for his reaction. He seems unfazed by the moniker and continues to ready himself.

“Do you have any allergies or medical conditions I should be aware of?” he asks.

A lie forms on the tip of your tongue but the truth slips out anyway, “My heart’s a bit weak. Nothing serious. It didn’t develop properly when I was younger. I haven’t had any issues with it before.”

The revelation seems to give the man pause. He turns to you and motions for you to hold out your wrist for him, so you do. His warm fingers slip under your sleeve and find purchase on your pulse point. After a few excoriatingly silent minutes, you attempt to put his mind at ease.

“I’m, uh, a bit more excited than usual at the moment. My resting heart rate is probably higher than normal.”

The pads of his fingers don’t leave your wrist when he asks, “What’s your typical resting heart rate?”

You want to ask what that fucking matters, but sensing that won’t get you any closure to what you want you decide to humor the man. It’s been a while since you’ve been to a doctor. Back when they used to have you track it, the rate could vary depending on what task you were completing. It was higher, usually, when doing something strenuous. When you rested it would drop again.

“Usually around 90 beats per minute.”

His eyes flick to your face as he drops your wrist. “You should see a specialist.”

You roll your eyes impatiently, “Are we fucking or not?”

In response to your outburst, his hands find the hem of your shirt. “Who said I had any intentions of fucking you?” he asks, voice frustratingly emotionless. Your arms raise instinctually as he toys with the fabric, and the takes the opportunity to relieve you of the garment. “As I said before, this is about much more than sex to me.”

He circles behind you and draws you in close to him. It occurs to you suddenly just how much larger than you the man is. He rests his chin on your head as his fingers slowly trace down your sides, leaving a field of goosebumps in their wake. His hands make their way to the button on your pants.

“You aren’t just here for sex. Are you?” he asks, voice low. You feel the words vibrate his chest as he speaks them.

“No,” you whisper, eyes suddenly blurring.

“Good,” he says, undoing your buttons. “Let’s use the traffic light system today. It’s a simply way for me to check in on you and see how you’re doing.”

He lets the words sit in the air for a bit, fingers fiddling with your zipper. The only sound in the room is your own uneven breathing that you fight for control over.

The man pinches the tab of your zipper and shifts so his cheek is pressed against your forehead. “Color,” he asks, breath hot on the shell of your ear.

“Green,” you practically moan.

He slides off your pants with ease once he’s taken care of the zipper. He even helps you to keep your balance as you step out of them, one foot at a time.

“Color?” he asks again, as his fingers settle on the clasp of your bra.

“Green,” you reply, voice steadier now.

He undoes the hook with one hand.

You expect him to remove your panties next, but his fingers instead find the meat of your breasts. One of his arms wraps around you, securing you tightly against him, as you nearly keel over in a mixture of surprise and pleasure.

“Sensitive here,” he observes, cupping one of your breasts in his free hand. He uses a foot to nudge your legs further apart and slip a leg between them. The man isn't lying about getting off on this; his cock is hard as a rock against your ass.

“Fuck,” you whine as his bends you over ever so slightly. Just enough to rub your clothed pussy against his pant leg.

“Wet already,” he informs you, as if you don’t already know. As if you can’t feel the way the cotton material sticks to your lip. “All I did was undress you. That eager to begin?”

“Please,” you groan, desperate for him to take you apart with his slender fingers. “Please, Sir, I want you so fucking bad.”

“On the bed,” he instructs, releasing you, careful not to harm you as his leather harness peels away from your skin.

The rope he ends up choosing for the session is the jute rope. He takes his time winding the instrument around your wrists and pulling them above your head. His movements are practiced and skilled. His hands steady like a surgeon’s. You don’t even realize the effect watching him restrain you is having on you until a firm hand finds its way to your pelvis to stop your squirming.

Once you’ve settled, he retrieves two strands of additional rope.

“Are you familiar with the Spiral Futomomo tie?” he asks. “I understand that you’re still a beginner and tie will force you into a fixed position for an undetermined length of time. I trust you will use your safe word if needed?”

“You can trust me,” you assure him. “I know my limits.”

He must believe your words are sincere because he sets to work binding your ankle to your thigh, checking in periodically to ensure the wrappings aren’t too tight. The man is clearly in no rush and seems to delight in taking breaks between knots to steady your shaking form. You also notice the way his eyes shift to the growing wet spot beneath you as he progresses.

“What do you like about bondage?” he asks as he begins to work on your other leg.

“I don’t know,” you say, attempting to shrug before remembering your pose prevents you from such movement. “I’m never in control of my life anyway. May as well surrender myself to someone I know will take care of me.”

He doesn’t look at you, but you can see the way his eyes lighten. Your response must please him somehow. You decide to push the issue, “You like being in control?”

“I like caretaking,” is his response. “I like giving people what they need.”

“What if I need your fingers inside me?” you dare, feeling bold.

A small smile, but a smile all the same. “Then, you’ll have to patiently wait until I’m finished with the task at hand.”

He double checks all of his bindings once he’s finished securing you, mumbling under his breath about optimal blood flow. It’s cute, the way he seems so set on ensuring this is the best possible experience for you. You can’t remember the last dom you had who was this doting.

When he finally situates himself between your legs, it’s with gloved hands and a vibrator. You jump as the cool leather of the hand covering finds your inner thigh.

“Keep these spread for me,” he says, referring to your legs. Then he’s rubbing the vibrator, still off, up and down your panties with just enough strength for you to truly register the tool.

“You’re soaked,” he observes in that neutral tone of his, though his eyes glistening with awe. You wonder if he even realizes the vibrator isn’t on. His eyes find yours and for the first time all evening he smiles warmly at you. “Don’t worry. I’m going to take excellent care of you.”

Then he turns the vibrator on its lowest setting and your pussy truly begins to drool. He circles the vibrating toy around your clit strategically, watching your response to his ministrations intently. Fire pools in your belly as he slides the vibrator down your cunt and presses the tip of it gently against your opening. The panties you’re still wearing dull some of the vibration, but you can still feel the ungodly amount of slick that slips out of you at the slight penetration.

You do your best to stay still for him as he ups the setting, but your body starts to twitch in pleasure, back beginning to arch, toes threatening to curl. Your breath quickens as well as all the blood in your body seems to pump directly to your swelling clit. The same clit the man is now more firmly rubbing the vibrator against.

“Fuck,” you cry, starting to lose your composure. Your hips buck away from the relentless thrumming of the vibrator. Or maybe towards it. You’re not actually sure. It’s both too much and not enough at the same time. You need more. You need less. You need…

His unoccupied hand presses your hips back against the bed. “Easy,” he coaxes. “Don’t pull against the ropes.”

When you’re unable to obey, too overwhelmed with desire, he switches the vibrator off. The lack of sensation is so abrupt the tears you’ve been holding back finally spill, slipping down your heated cheeks. An animalistic whine you didn’t even know you were capable of escapes you.

“We’re not done,” he assures you, swiping at your tears with his thumbs. You wish suddenly he wasn’t wearing the leather gloves. You yearn to feel him skin to skin. The fabric is warm at least from the heat of his fingers. “You’re just getting a little fussy. I want to make sure everything is alright before we continue.”

He settles back between your spread legs and hooks his pointer finger in the bottom of your panties, pulling it aside to expose your dripping core and swollen lips. “Impressive,” he says, “how simple it was to elicit this response from you.”

He collects some of your spend on his index finger before starting to slide it inside you. It’s met with no resistance. He sinks easily in, straight to the knuckle. When he slips out it’s only to coat a second finger in your slick so he can sink that one in alongside the other. The two digits begin working you in tandem with each other, pumping deliciously against your walls. It doesn’t take him long to find what he’s looking for.

“Here,” he states, pressing and holding the tips of his fingers against the sensitive area. You involuntarily clench around them, body begging him to move them once more, but the man—to the devastation of your body—is nothing but the living embodiment of self-control.

You audibly cry out when he pulls his fingers from you. He locks eyes with you as he coyly promises, “Soon. I’d never leave a woman unsatisfied, and any man who would isn’t fit to be a dom.”

He picks the vibrator again and this time, when he touches it to your clit, it’s under your ruined panties. The thrumming sends a bolt of electricity skittering up your arched spine. Fuck, you’re so unbelievably wet. You feel your pussy fluttering around nothing and hiccup out a sob. You’re so empty. You’re so, so empty.

“Need,” you hiccup.

“What?” he asks patiently. “Tell me what you need.”

“Your fingers. I need your fingers. Please.”

He slips the same two from before back inside you.

“So well mannered," he praises. Then he asks, "Here?” as he presses the appendages against that spot once again.

“Yeah,” you agree, though you’re so far gone you would agree to anything he asked of you in this moment. “Yeah. Yeah. There. Right there. Fuck!”

He uses his fingers and the vibrator to bring you right to the brink of an orgasm. It’s so good. He’s so good. He’s touching you everywhere you need to be touched. Pushing all the buttons that need to be pushed. Your time in these rooms has never felt anything like this before, and you doubt it will ever feel anything like this ever again.

“Can I-”

“I don’t remember telling you that you needed my permission.”

Your orgasm ripples through you, strong and steady like a cresting wave. Once he’s certain he’s wrung the last of it out of you, the man withdraws his fingers and switches off the vibrator.

“I’m going to remove my gloves and start undoing your bindings,” he says.

“Yeah, okay,” you reply.

It takes a few minutes for him to completely untie you. Once he has, he asks permission to massage your legs and arms to reencouraged blood flow which you readily agree to. He produces a bottle of lotion that smells like eucalyptus from his bag and starts working the muscles of your arm.

“I wish they had showers here,” he offhandedly comments. “I don’t like sending people home without a proper washing.”

“A bath does sound nice,” you agree, sagging into his embrace.

“Promise me you’ll take one when you get home. I don’t want you getting into your bed dirty.”

“I would never make a promise I couldn’t keep, Sir.”

A comfortable silence falls over the room as he continues to provide you with aftercare.

“Zayne,” he eventually says, eyes fixed on the foot he’s been massaging for the past few minutes.

“What?”

“My name. You could use it if you’d like. Sir is fine too, if you’d truly prefer it, but I find names are much more intimate.”

“Oh,” is all you muster. Then you tell him yours.

“Could we move to the sofa while we continue to wind down?” he asks after testing the sound of your name in his mouth. “I like the casual skin to skin contact after a session. I’ll remove my harness but leave my slacks.”

“Fine with me.”

It takes Zayne a moment to remove his harness. Perhaps it’s his first time wearing this particular set of gear. You watch him wrestle with the final clasp through drooping eyelids. His expression softens when he catches you lazily staring at him.

“Admiring the view?” he teases.

“Never had a better one,” you reply easily.

He positions himself behind you when he joins you on the sofa. The two of you lay there comfortable for some time, breath seeming to synchronize in the quiet of the room. The world outside this secluded space slowly begins to creep back into your mind. Back to Metafluxes and Protocores. Back to Wanders and Hunters.

And then you start to cry.

If you weren’t so close to Zayne, you could probably hide it from him, but he notices the change in your mood instantly. He tugs gently at your arm, a wordless plea for you to turn to face him. You allow him to reposition you, curling yourself into his large body, tucking your face into his neck.

He pets at your hair soothingly while you let the worst of it out. When an appropriate amount of time has passed, he asks, “What brought that on?”

“It’s, uh, well it’ll probably ruin the moment if I told you.”

“I’d still like to know if it’s all the same to you. Debriefing is part of the scene after all.”

At first, you’re not sure you want to tell him what triggered the outburst, but considering the dynamic, you figure you owe it to him.

“I was thinking about my ex,” you admit.

Zayne stiffens, his caressing hand on your head stills. “They hurt you?”

“They loved me.”

 Zayne tangibly relaxes at your response, and he resumes petting your hair.

“What happened to them?” he asks, tone carefully neutral.

“They left me.”

The silence that follows your confession is welcome. You think you even dose off. When your eyes open again, Zayne is full dressed, sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows as he sanitizes the sex toy you soiled.

Sensing you stir he says, “You’re awake.”

“I am.”

Zayne dries the toy and sets it aside, turning to face you.

“I like to follow up with the people I dom for. You don’t have to give me your number if you’re not comfortable. An email will suffice.”

“You can have my number,” you say, gesturing for him to hand you his phone. “I’d actually appreciate a check in tomorrow.”

“Of course.”

He walks you to the train station once he’s certain the number you’ve given him isn’t a fake.

“Remember to get a full eight hours of sleep tonight,” he tells you. “And please eat a protein-based meal for breakfast. Something with eggs and meat, maybe. A shake if absolutely necessary.”

“Yes, Doctor Zayne,” you joke, offering him a crisp salute as you step onto the train platform. Maybe you're imagining things, but you swear he flinches at your response.

A firm hand on your wrist stops you from fully entering the car. You turn to face him one final time.

“About that,” he says, expression unreadable. “I was serious about you seeing a specialist for your heart.”

[whirlingstarz]

Robotnik’s & Family in The Sonic Movies:

A analysis summary(?)/rant

Spoilers for the Sonic Movies!

“I connected the dots!” “You didn’t connect shit” me to myself

Have you noticed that anyone who finds family in a Robotnik gets punished for it leading to further trauma? Let me explain,

Gerald found family in Maria | Shadow found family in Maria | Stone found family in Ivo | Ivo found family in Gerald

Maria died because of her association with Shadow & Gerald, I mean if she was never put in the care of Gerald she wouldn’t even have been at the base. (Don’t be mad at me for this take pls) -Leading Gerald & Shadow to plot revenge as we know

It is implied; because of the effect Maria’s death, Ivo was neglected by his family to some extent leading to him growing up in an orphanage.

Ivo then had a harsh childhood, leading him to be the man he is; Stone found family in Ivo because of who he his, Stone loves him (I will die on that hill) just being himself

Ivo thought he had found family in Gerald, he thought that biology was the only way to have a family (so smart and doesn’t even know what found family is? 😔) he grew up with the notion that the only people who could love him were his blood family due to his harsh life growing up. Gerald at that point was only bent on vengeance and didn’t even see Ivo as any kind of family.

Gerald did what he did because of Maria - Ivo did what he did because of Gerald (not directly but hear me out) - Stone did what he did because of Ivo - Shadow did what he did because of Maria - and in the end; Ivo did what he did because of Stone - and Shadow did what he did because of Maria a long cycle

Gerald loved Maria, Shadow loved Maria, Stone loved Ivo, Ivo loved Gerald (or thought he did)/Ivo loved Stone

But this family (The Robotnik’s) is a tragic one;

Gerald lost the only person he loved, Shadow lost the only person he loved, his only family, the one person who saw him for who he was | Ivo grew up alone and angry, and was betrayed in the end by Gerald: loosing what shot he had a family (he thought), and died for the family he recognized too late | Stone lost everything, his only family, the person he loved

Aka they ALL: Lost the only family they had, the people that loved them and saw them for who they were, their worlds

Anyone who loves a Robotnik gets punished

Change my mind. Every. Single. One. Gerald got punished for loving Maria, Shadow got punished for loving Maria, Ivo got punished for loving Gerald, Stone got punished for loving Ivo

WHAT THE F*CK MAN

why is this family cursed oml

Also this is a summary of my thoughts on this so if y’all want me to go and write a 5k word analysis on this tell me so I can start because dude it’s INSANE

also I’m so sorry if this is incoherent I had to get my thoughts out of my head

[sorceressofthesky]

Piltover and Zaun Lore Deep Dive

I've been doing extensive research into the history of P&Z for a Silco and Vander origin story fic, and I figured it could be helpful to share my findings here too!

My main goal was to try and integrate known Arcane lore with League lore and iron out some of the creases, to nail down exactly what the world of P&Z looked like in Arcane. I've done a lot of extrapolating and theorising to make sense of it all, but if you're just interested in the raw data from canon, I've compiled all my notes on a Google Doc. All sources are listed throughout.

The contents of this post are as follows:

Part 1: Chronology (the timeline)

Part 1.1: Chronology in League of Legends

Part 1.2: Chronology in Arcane

Part 1.3: Integrating the timelines

Part 2: Geography (the layout of P&Z)

Part 2.1: Existing maps of Piltover and Zaun

Part 2.2: Geography in League of Legends

Part 2.3: Geography in Arcane

Part 2.4: Integrating the layouts

Part 3: Modern Zaun (ft. Silco and Vander)

Part 3.0: Preamble

Part 3.1: The timeline of Zaun’s creation

Part 3.2: Vander and Silco’s early life

Part 3.3: Golden age of Vander and Silco

Part 3.4: After the betrayal

Part 4: Wrap-Up

Summary of the timeline

~~~

Part 1.1: Chronology (League of Legends)

Information derived from the LoL Fandom Wiki and official LoL website, with most details corroborated by various Reddit threads and similar forums. BN means Before Noxus, and AN means After Noxus.

6000-5000 BN: Westward Migration. Humans began to migrate from the eastern hemisphere to the western hemisphere, towards the Shuriman Continent. Settlers founded many new nations and cities. Among these was a sea port called Oshra Va’Zaun (also referred to in some places as Osha Va’Zaun or Kha’Zhun, but I went with what was most consistently used on the Wiki). Oshra Va’Zaun connected the Shuriman Continent to Valoran via an isthmus, or artificial land bridge, that allowed for free trade between the continents and also comprised docks from which sailors could travel in and out. The people of Oshra Va’Zaun worshipped Janna (then known as Jan’ahrem), the wind spirit. As a spirit god, she relies on prayers to keep her strong. Sailors and merchants would pray for calm seas, and she would deliver.

2000-3 BN: Various Wars. The fall of the Shuriman Empire (2000 BN), the Darkin War (550 BN) and the Rune Wars (25-3 BN) all took place during this time. Janna protected Oshra Va’Zaun from every conflict, preventing it from becoming rubble.

772 AN: The Collapse. The people of Oshra Va’Zaun planned to destroy a portion of the isthmus connecting Valoran and the Southern Continent, allowing for safe sea passage between eastern and western Valoran. The plan was to use thousands of Chemtech bombs to crack open an area of the land so that a cavern could be created. Instead, the bombs triggered a series of earthquakes that completely destroyed the isthmus and sank large districts of Zaun. Thousands of citizens were killed, and poisonous gases leaked into the city’s surviving areas. Allegedly, Janna saved many of the citizens by holding back the seas to prevent floods.

790 AN: Piltover is Established. Over the last 18 years, the ruins of Oshra Va’Zaun underwent extensive reconstruction. The Sun Gates were established to regulate travel through the oceanic passage that had opened up where the isthmus used to be. This essentially forced all ocean transport through these waters, which brought wealth to the city and spurred the development of Piltover - named after its construction over the Pilt River. Merchant clans dominated the trade route and built up towards the sky, while those still living in the ruins built down into the fissures.

~~~

Part 1.2: Chronology (Arcane)

The only traces I could find of a timeline were on the League of Legends Universe Wiki, where birth years are given for several of the main characters. Most were given a range, as follows:

676 AN: Heimerdinger is born

959-963 AN: Jayce is born

961-968 AN: Viktor is born

966-970 AN: Caitlyn is born

967-971 AN: Vi is born

972-976 AN: Jinx is born

In Season 1 Act 1, Heimerdinger specifically states that he is 307, and Jayce states that he is 24. The writers also stated that 7 years had passed between Acts 1 and 2. This gives us a good base to work from, especially since Heimerdinger's birth year is the only one that is dated precisely. 676 + 307 = 983; thus, Act 1 takes place in 983 AN, and Act 2 onwards takes place in 990 AN. Working backwards, we can determine that Jayce was born in 959 AN, and everything works itself out from there.

676 AN: Heimerdinger is born. He is 307 (Act 1) / 314 (Act 2 and beyond).

959 AN: Jayce is born. He is 24 / 31.

961 AN: Viktor is born. He is 22 / 29.

966 AN: Caitlyn is born. She is 17 / 24 (honestly 17 seems too old to me based on what we see of her in Act 1, but 966 is the earliest year listed on her wiki page, so this is what I’m running with).

967 AN: Vi is born. She is 16 / 23.

972 AN: Jinx is born. She is 11 / 18.

983 AN: Events of Act 1. Key events here are the raid on the Kiramman warehouse and the subsequent invention of Hextech.

990 AN: Events of Act 2. At the start of Act 2, Heimerdinger says that Piltover is turning 200, so this works out perfectly with the League of Legends timeline.

~~~

Part 1.3: Chronology (Integrated)

So, how exactly do Arcane and League lore fit together? The answer essentially boils down to: there isn't one. Everyone in every thread has a different solution, and the timeline is so messy that there is even a dedicated Wiki page to all the various contradictions. I'm going to spend this final section developing my own theories and solutions based on what I know; feel free to take or leave any of this.

Pre-772 AN: From everything I’ve read, it seems like there are hardly any indications of Zaun and Piltover’s history before the events of the main timeline. There is no mention of Janna at all in Arcane, but subtle imagery of her is sprinkled throughout the art, which suggests that she could still be a figure present in the history and protection of Zaun. Thus, I think we can reasonably assume that everything was much the same up to the collapse. There don't seem to be any lore inconsistencies prior to 772 AN that would make the timeline impossible (other than Heimerdinger having supposedly lived through the Rune Wars, but Yordle lore is a whole different ball game that I'm not even going to touch lmao).

Post-772 AN: From the collapse onwards, there are two main issues I ran into in getting the lore to match up. One of these issues is the absence of the Sun Gates in Arcane. Instead, the Hexgates play the role of facilitating trade, which is treated like a new and revolutionary invention. This raises questions regarding how exactly Piltover came to prosper for ~2 centuries before Hextech. It’s possible that the Sun Gates did exist at a point in time, but were destroyed for one reason or another before we get to the main timeline. Otherwise, it could just be that they flourished through maritime trade for a while without the Sun Gates, given that they are still positioned at the intersection between continents (the Hexgates facilitate air travel, not sea travel, so that would have still been a pivotal change). The council is made up of wealthy merchant clans, which suggests that Piltover was still a place of high traffic for traders. We also know that Piltover and Zaun are realms of innovation, and with Heimerdinger at the forefront of Piltover’s establishment, it seems viable that they had a lot to offer that made Piltover attractive to other regions. This also raises the question of what exactly Piltover was inventing before Hextech, but I'm going to shelve that question, as it integrates slightly better with the next section.

The other issue that came up is with regards to Chemtech. In League lore, Chemtech is consistently listed as “Zaun’s answer to Hextech”. The Wiki also mentions that it has existed in Zaun “since the early 900s AN”, but wasn’t widely used until “the later half of the 900s AN”. There are two issues with this. Firstly, the lore specifically mentions that Chemtech bombs were used to explode the land in 772 AN, which means that it did exist before the 900s. The second issue is that Hextech was not invented until 983 AN, which contradicts the notion that Chemtech was “Zaun’s answer” to it. We see green lights all over the Lanes in Arcane Episode 1, so it was definitely in use before Hextech existed. So the questions that arise are 1) What was the timeline of Chemtech usage in Zaun?, 2) Why wasn’t it ever used in Piltover?, and 3) Why was Piltover the city that prospered through trade and innovation, if Zaun was the one who had Chemtech?

I think the most sensible answer to question 2 is simply that it's toxic. People in Piltover are terrified of change, judging by the council’s reaction to magic the first time Jayce brings it up. If a Chemtech bomb was what caused the destruction of Oshra Va’Zaun in the first place, it makes sense that Piltover would have avoided using it. This could also help with the answer to question 1. If we believe that Chemtech wasn't widely used in Zaun until the 900s, it could just be that they were afraid to touch it again for a very long time after the collapse. That just leaves question 3, and I think to answer this, we need to return to that earlier question of what exactly Piltover invented/traded that cemented their position of affluence. The official League webpage for Piltover talks extensively about Hextech, and also includes images of Piltover's inventions under the umbrella of "Hextech". However, there are three images in that category that stand out to me as different:

In the bottom series of pictures, three of the images are in black and white, and look more like sketches than the fully-rendered designs of the other inventions. The first of these images is just a string of merchant clan sigils, which don't give us all that much information. What I'm most interested in are the second image, which is a dome-shaped streetlight:

And the third image, which is a "Pneuma-Tube Conduit":

The black-and-white design of these makes them look older, as opposed to the modern designs of objects like the gauntlets, which we know are newer. That indicates that these inventions existed before Hextech. The light source looks like it has a wire running through it and a switch of sorts, which suggests that they had some form of electricity. Another possibility is that it functions using solar power, given that the Zaunites, despite being inventors in their own rights, seem to rely mostly on Chemtech for light and haven't been able to built light sources that can pierce darkness/the Grey. It would make sense if they simply don't get the sunlight down there to operate them properly.

The pneuma tube is the most notable to me, given that it seems to match the tube Grayson gives Vander in Episode 1 as a method of contacting her ("this will reach me, and only me") - again, before Hextech existed. What's interesting about that tube is that, when I went back to the scene where Vi decides to turn herself in, the tube arrives with a puff of gas and a small lime-coloured light that turns on. There's also a green-tinted lamp in the police station where they appear to be located. It looks very Chemtech-like, which I'm intrigued by; it makes me wonder if Piltover actually does use Chemtech to some extent, but in much smaller doses with extensive safety measures to keep the gases from escaping.

I also found a Weebly website, which looks very unofficial (i.e. I cannot verify any of the information on there) but has a ton of lore for various regions, including the only mention I could find of a Piltovian energy source that wasn't Hextech. The site mentions that Piltover uses liquids and gases from a nearby marsh to power the city. This seems like a viable option to me, especially given the detail of the gases coming off the tube, and the images of factories with smoke coming from the underground. So I guess, rather than being Zaun's "answer" to Hextech, Chemtech is more like the toxic and volatile version of the various controlled gases and liquids that Piltover uses as an energy source.

On the topic of other things Piltover invented, here are some additional notes from my research:

Weaponry - There are guns everywhere in Piltover, particularly for the Enforcers. Presumably one of the wealthy clans had to manufacture these.

Tools - We know that the Talis family gained wealth and notoriety for their invention of various tools, including mostly hammers and the "collapsible pocket wrench".

Lock System - Amanda Overton stated that the Kirammans became wealthy for building "the very important lock system in the channel that first allowed trade between regions". I suppose this must have been instead of the Sun Gates, if we're assuming they don't exist?

Other Systems - The Kirammans also appeared to be the ones who built the underground ventilation system for Zaun. The tube conduit is also an example of a miscellaneous system invented by someone in Piltover, as well as presumably whatever wiring system allows the streetlights to function.

Machinery/Machine Parts - It's mentioned in League lore that the Medarda clan became wealthy for their invention of the piston, which is part of an engine. It's unclear whether this is still the case in Arcane, though.

Prosthetics - In the story The Lady of Clockwork, it's said that Corin Reveck was renowned for his design of prosthetics. Arcane canon calls him a "revered academy alchemist", so it seems like his creations there had more to do with chemistry and magic, but prosthetics could have been the specialty of someone else in Piltover.

Clockwork - I've also seen Corin Reveck described as a clockwork inventor, so revolutionary clocks and time-based inventions could have also come out of Piltover.

Cameras - Caitlyn has a camera in Act 1 when she's investigating the crime scene after the Firelights raided Silco's shipment. The flash has a blue tint, so this could have been a Hextech invention, but I was interested to see that it had a green pipe running along the side; perhaps it was a Zaunite camera that she asked Jayce to modify for her.

Food/Drink - In S1E4, it's mentioned that Councillor Hoskel ships wine to Noxus. Perhaps some clans in Piltover accumulated wealth from unique food/drink products that other regions could not cultivate.

Various Gadgets - Mel's very first scene shows her choosing a gift for Hoskel from an assortment of mechanical gadgets. These could have been a smaller byproduct of Piltover's invention boom. This category also covers the items in Jayce's lab, many of which seem to be assorted gadgets like the nose hair trimmer, the spinning mobile on the ceiling and the "real Valdiani".

So, to recap, here's a summary of the integrated timeline for P&Z in Arcane:

Pre-772 AN: Westward migration led to the establishment of the sea port of Oshra Va'Zaun. Wars ravaged the Shuriman Continent, but Oshra Va'Zaun was protected through all of it, until their own innovation caused the collapse of the isthmus via Chemtech bomb.

Post-772 AN: Piltover was gradually built over the ruins, and formally established in 790 AN. Meanwhile, those still living underground were forced into labour, working in the mines and factories to provide for Piltover's inventions. Piltover became richer and richer as trade increased, while the people of Zaun had nothing themselves.

959-972 AN: Births of the leading cast members. Jayce is the oldest, and Jinx is the youngest.

983 AN: Events of Act 1. Vi, Powder, Mylo and Claggor raid the Kiramman warehouse. Hextech is invented. Vander turns himself in for the raid, Silco intercepts the arrest, and Vander, Mylo and Claggor end up dead.

990 AN: Events of Act 2. The main Arcane timeline starts here.

~~~

Part 2.1: Geography (Maps)

Figure 1: Piltover and Zaun in the wider landscape of Runeterra (source)

Figure 2: Piltover trade routes per the Medarda Heirloom (source)

Figure 3: Piltover and Zaun map in Arcane (source)

Figure 4: Map of Piltover and Zaun from Jinx Fixes Everything (source)

Figure 5: Map of Piltover and Zaun from World Anvil (source)*

*I'm not sure of the exact source for this map; the page I found this from is a fanmade D&D campaign but the creator has a disclaimer that they sourced the artwork externally and do not own it.

Figures 6 and 7: Maps of P&Z from Arcane and the Medarda Heirloom respectively. The Arcane map has been rotated to align the structure of the land masses in the Medarda Heirloom.

~~~

Part 2.2: Geography (League of Legends)

In League, Zaun is built quite literally underneath Piltover; there are some absolutely beautiful official artworks depicting this. In the League version of Zaun, there are three levels, as per the Wiki page:

Promenade Level: The top level of Zaun. Described as an "entertainment and commercial zone", this is where Zaun's wealthy reside, and where the line between Piltover and Zaun blurs. Some of its features include a thriving marketplace on the boundary (several regions are named specifically; the Boundary Markets and the Skylight Commercia), a pump station to move clean air from Piltover into Zaun, and the College of Techmaturgy.

Entresol Level: The level just below Promenade, this is considered the main hub of activity for Zaunites. It's one of the most populated districts between the two cities, and is also where the Zaun Grey lingers most. Some of its features include augmentation parlours for prosthetics and other bodily augmentations, a breather station where Zaunites can find reprieve from the Grey, the Chemtech Seam in the cliffs where compounds for Chemtech are sourced, markets and greenhouses, and laboratories for science and invention.

Sump Level: Zaun's deepest level where the light doesn't reach. It's chaotic and grim, with disorderly piping everywhere and discarded waste from Piltover. This is the origin of the Grey, from polluted waterways and grilles. Some of its features include a pump station for removing sewage, a prison mine where convicts are forced to mine Chemtech compounds, factories and warehouses, a surviving clock tower from Oshra Va'Zaun, densely-populated slums, the Black Lanes where merchants and thieves do business, sewers, an orphanage and an asylum.

Other Features: There's a large cliff in Zaun that makes up part of the Promenade Level, and is home to shipping docks and the Sun Gates. There are also Hexdraulic Conveyors in various locations throughout Zaun, which allow Piltovans to descend into Zaun - some available to the public, and some for private use, especially for the Chem-Barons and wealthy Piltovans.

As for Piltover, per the Wiki page, there are only two main regions - North Piltover and South Piltover:

North Piltover: Most of the clans have their mansions and "heavily guarded workshop compounds" here, in a region called Bluewind Court. The north also contains a menagerie, theatres and workshops, a promenade of cafes and bistros, and a region dedicated to banks and secure vaults for the wealthy.

South Piltover: Not much is mentioned of South Piltover, but it seems like it involves several shopping districts, more workshops and lavish residences, and the fissures where Zaun is located.

I recognised a lot of the location names on the Wiki from the map in Figure 5, so presumably the north just means everything north of the canal and the south is the region on the other side; then Zaun exists directly underneath southern Piltover, carved out of the land underneath the fissures.

~~~

Part 2.3: Geography (Arcane)

The geography in Arcane was a little confusing to make sense of. These are the changes noted on the Wiki:

The Sun Gates do not exist

The fissures are narrower

Zaun does not have three levels, instead being divided into the Lanes which each represent one of the fissures

The tallest tower in Zaun is now the Chem-Baron tower, which replaces the College of Techmaturgy

There are no Hexdraulic Descenders, instead replaced by smaller elevators

The Lanes in Zaun are home to Babette's brothel and The Last Drop

The Firelight Hideout is built in a large, abandoned sewer

The north and south parts of Piltover are connected by The Bridge of Progress

In mid-Piltover is the University of Piltover, located near the Hexgates, where most council meetings take place

Stillwater Hold is located on an island just outside the eastern part of the city

I've read a lot of other forum threads, and it seems like there's no real consensus on where exactly Zaun is located in relation to Piltover. Some people say it's still directly underneath southern Piltover, while others think the entire region across the bridge (see Figure 3) is now entirely Zaun. I get the impression that a lot of the confusion comes from Arcane visuals that make it look like Zaun is just everything on the other side of the bridge. Vander also describes the Undercity as "our side", making it seem like Zaun is that entire side of the region rather than just a part of it built underground.

Personally, I'm inclined to think Zaun is still predominantly underneath Piltover, judging by the maps in Figures 3 & 4 from Arcane canon. It seems like the Alcove District, Low Piltover and South Side Harbour are still part of south Piltover, while everything around the Fissures are part of Zaun. The scene in Season 1 Episode 1 where Vi and the kids are running away from the Enforcers also seems to support this. They run through a corridor, then slide down a sewer grate, into the underground where we can see all of Piltover's metal scraps and parts discarded as per the lore. I presumed, from this, that the first place they entered across the bridge was still part of Piltover, and then they went down the pipe to get to Zaun. Deckard confronts them before they take the elevator even further down, and we know that this confrontation happened on their "side", per Vi's conversation with Vander, so this was likely an upper part of Zaun.

Additionally, we see this wide shot as they run across the bridge:

Figure 8: Wide shot of the Bridge of Progress from Season 1 Episode 1, timestamp 13:01

Figure 8 shows Zaun/South Piltover on the left side of the bridge, and North Piltover on the right side. The architecture immediately across the bridge still looks very Piltovian, while towards the back of the image, we can see large green towers and smoke, more akin to Zaunite infrastructure. This makes me think there's still something like the Promenade level at the same altitude as south Piltover, where the lines between cities are blurred, but most of the activity takes place underneath. The maps from Arcane are also specifically labelled "Piltover", which further supports the idea that the entire region is Piltover, with most of Zaun lying underneath.

~~~

Part 2.4: Geography (Integrated)

I don't think Zaun was just made up of the Lanes, as the Wiki page seems to imply. There's a line from Silco in S1E3 in which he says "not just for the Lanes, but the whole of the underground united as one". It seems like the Lanes were the region Silco and Vander had control over ("you had my respect, the Lanes' respect" - Vander, S1E3), but there were other parts to the underground too.

There's a really useful Twitter post here that proposes one theory as to how Arcane and League geography can be integrated. As previously mentioned, I like the idea that the levels still exist to some extent. The Promenade level bleeds into South Piltover, and looks to be where many of the factories and warehouses are located judging by the smoke - as well as, of course, the Chem-Baron tower where Silco gasses them all in S1E7. This is also where the fight with Deckard happened. Every theory I've seen that incorporates the levels places The Last Drop on Entresol, so I'm inclined to say that's where the Lanes are located, with The Last Drop a central feature, and quite close to the Sump. And the Sump is where the mines are, all the way down in the lowest inhabitable (using that term very loosely) part of Zaun. There are also ruins of Oshra Va'Zaun underneath this where it's completely deserted.

~~~

Part 3.0: The Creation of Modern Zaun (Preamble)

So all of this brings me back to the question at the heart of it all: where do Silco and Vander fit in? There are three big questions I am aiming to answer in this section.

Question 1: What is the timeline of Silco and Vander's past?

Question 2: What did Zaun look like before Silco and Vander took control of it?

Question 3: What was their vision for Zaun and how far did they get with it?

Before I can get into answering those questions, I want to compile everything that we already know about Silco and Vander. From Arcane canon, here is what we're given:

Vander and Silco started as miners who "had nothing" (Silco's words, S1E9), and had a shared vision for what Zaun could have been. Silco talks very distastefully about his experience in the mines, describing "air so thick it clogged your throat, stuck in your eyes".

They are said to have "built the underground", according to Sevika (or, at the very least, she says that Vander built the underground).

Zaun was governed by Piltover and their council; Silco and Vander wanted Zaun to become an independent nation in its own right.

Silco’s description in S1E3: “We shared a vision, Vander. A dream of freedom. Not just for the Lanes, but the whole of the underground united as one. The Nation of Zaun.” In S1E9, he also says "everything we ever wanted" when he's talking to the Vander statue about Jayce's offer of peace, so all signs point to them having both been set on independence for Zaun.

Sevika says that "Silco spent his whole life trying to rally the Undercity together" in S2E4.

At some point, Felicia joined their fight, and the three of them were seen at The Last Drop together around the time of its founding. Sevika and Connol also knew them in their youth. I don't believe it's ever explicitly stated whether Benzo knew them back then, but Vander mentions him by name to Silco, which suggests a mutual connection.

Felicia speaks about the vision for Zaun as theirs, not hers, so it seems like her role was not quite as prominent as theirs in the actual conception and construction of Zaun.

Felicia encourages Silco and Vander to "figure this Zaun thing out", even if they have to "carve it out of the bedrock, covered in blisters". Much like Sevika using the word "built", this seems to imply a very literal kind of construction.

When Vi, Powder and co raid the Kirammans' warehouse, Vi mentions that it's exactly the kind of job Vander would've done when he was their age. We know that Vi was 16 at the time, and Mylo and Claggor were also both older than Powder, so presumably she means 15-16.

In S1E2, Vander tells Vi that when he was younger, he "was angry" about the treatment of Zaun by Piltover, and led the bridge riot that killed Felicia and Connol.

Using this post and the Arcane artbook as a guide, I also pulled information out of comments from the creators, which I'm regarding as canon-adjacent:

The Lanes is the black market area of the Undercity, created through Vander and Silco's smuggling operation that gave them the chance to make money outside of working as miners for topsiders.

Silco "grew up working in the mines", which is where Vander, Silco and Felicia met. It's also mentioned that this is why he was the only one who could tolerate the gas in S1E7, but he specifically says that the Chem-Barons used to work in the mines as well (“The mines they had us in” / “I pulled you all up from the depths”), so that seems inconsistent. I'm inclined to believe that it's a combination of him growing up in the mines and continuing to live on the Entresol level (in The Last Drop), while the others lived on the Promenade level.

Silco and Vander led a movement towards independence. Both were unhappy with the "oppressive feeling" of being "under the thumb of Piltover".

In the artbook, it's said that Silco hated the way he was treated by Piltover and wanted to prove that he was more than what the world had made him out to be. He and Vander "tried to build this world together", with the main goal of independence and pride for Zaun. Ultimately, there were limits to what Vander was willing to lose, while Silco always wanted to keep fighting no matter the cost.

There's an image of young Benzo with Silco, Vander and Felicia in the artbook, confirming the implication that he knew them at that time.

The bridge riot was incited after Benzo got arrested, and Silco was the one really pushing for the uprising; hence he was the one who threw the first Molotov cocktail. This was when Vander decided that violence was not the way to achieve peace.

Amanda Overton frequently refers to that riot as the "Day of Ash". I could only find one source on this, a Fandom Wiki page with no additional references cited. According to this page, the Day of Ash took place on December 1st 979 AN, and involved a protest march on the Bridge of Progress in which over 100 unarmed Zaunites were shot and 84 died on the spot. This seems inconsistent with what we see in canon (the "unarmed" part specifically; Silco throwing the Molotov, Vander beating up Enforcers with his mining gloves), but I'm listing it here anyway for full disclosure.

The drowning incident happened after the riot, apparently after Vander had already taken the kids (so I guess he came back for Silco??? Or it happened a few days after?).

Something else worth noting is that in the Season 2 flashback, Felicia says that "tonight", their dream of turning the underground into a community became a reality. This obviously marks a very significant date for them, and they toast to the occasion. My assumption was that this was meant to show us the opening of The Last Drop, and that's what I ran with for much of my analysis throughout this section; however, I don't think it's ever actually specified which milestone they're celebrating, so this detail is ultimately up to interpretation.

~~~

Part 3.1: The Creation of Modern Zaun (Timeline)

All of the wiki pages I've looked at place Silco at 37-39 in Act 1, and 43-46 in Act 2; and for Vander, 43 in Act 1 and 50 in Act 2 (in the AU/as Warwick). As far as birth years go, this would translate to 944-946 AN for Silco, and 940 AN for Vander.

At the time of The Last Drop's opening, Felicia is pregnant with Vi. That would place this scene in either 966 or 967 AN. I struggled to find an official reference for Arcane character birthdays, but Vi's birthday is very consistently celebrated on December 19th across the fandom, which puts us in early 967. That makes Silco and Vander 21-23 and 27 respectively. Based on what we see of Silco in that scene, I'm inclined to place him at the upper end of that range, or even a year or two older. So more like 39-41 in Act 1 and 46-48 in Act 2.

The Day of Ash is an interesting conundrum. 979 AN, as per the wiki article I found, would make Vi and Powder 12 and 7 respectively. I'm not sure how reliable the source is, and my personal estimate would have been 977-978 AN, factoring in the kids' ages and the time it would take for Silco to rebuild his life from scratch.

Combining all of this information, we get the following timeline:

940 AN: Vander is born

942-944 AN: Silco is born

966-967 AN: The Last Drop is opened

977-979 AN: The Day of Ash

For the next few sections, I'd like to have precise years to focus on, so I'm going to run with these dates:

940 AN: Vander is born. He is 43 / 50.

943 AN: Silco is born. He is 40 / 47.

967 AN: The Last Drop is opened. This marks the birth of modern Zaun.

978 AN: The Day of Ash. Silco is betrayed, and Vander swears off violence.

~~~

Part 3.2: The Creation of Modern Zaun (Early Life of S&V)

Content warning for discussions of slavery/slave labour in this section; I'll mark the paragraph that includes this with ~!!~ at the start just in case anyone wants to skip it.

It's pretty solid canon that Vander and Silco started as miners, and built up their world of Zaun from there. The mining tunnels run all along the fissures, as per this map from the Jinx Fixes Everything minigame:

Figure 9: Map of mining tunnels from Jinx Fixes Everything

I get the impression, based on the prevalence of the tunnels & Silco's dialogue to the Chem-Barons ("We had nothing" / "Have you forgotten where we came from? The mines they had us in?") that the underground, at the time, was mostly just mines.

~!!~ I'm particularly interested in how this fits in with the original League geography of the Sump, given that's where the mines are located. In League, the Sump included a prison mine for "Chemtech compounds", factories, warehouses, and slums where the workers lived. There's one particular factory mentioned which involved "slave labour camps" and "tightly controlled torture chambers". This is a very dark but plausible look into one possibility for the Undercity's past. Since Silco and Vander were said to have grown up in the mines, I assume it's most likely that they were the children of prisoners, rather than prisoners themselves - although it isn't outside the realm of possibility, since Powder's visibly young age did not stop the Enforcers from going after her at the beginning of the show. Alternatively (if we want to assume the slave labour aspect did not exist/was very far in the past) we could just assume Vander and Silco were children of people who worked in the mines, and were essentially born into it.

Regardless, I don't think they had many other options outside of mining, so we can assume that this was much the same for most people living in the Undercity. Something I'm curious about is, with the interpretation that there was still some semblance of a level system in modern Zaun, when and how Entresol and Promenade came about.

My personal assumption for Promenade is that the level existed as a sort of gateway between south Piltover and the underground. The elevator from S1E1 is on this level, and it looks to be in an abandoned house, judging by the stairs, furniture and paintings on the walls. The decor is quite fancy and the people in the paintings are dressed similarly to the Kirammans in their family portraits, which makes me think this was the repurposed home of a wealthy topsider. One possibility is that Promenade held the residences of Piltovan elites who worked close to Zaun (e.g. owned factories, oversaw mining operations). I think it's unlikely that Promenade had anything to do with Silco and Vander's operations, since it's much closer to the surface than where they reside, but their revolution could have been the force that drove many of the topsiders out.

Entresol is where the Lanes and The Last Drop are located, so I'm inclined to assume this was the part that Silco and Vander built. This is also corroborated by the various references to the Lanes in S1E3, which I elaborated on in Part 2.4, that makes it sound like this was the part that they had the most involvement with. This was where both of them ended up living, and Vander says that Silco "had the Lanes' respect", suggesting that this was where they started out, too.

The way Sevika and Felicia both talk about Silco and Vander's work makes it sound like they built the Lanes in a very literal sense. This leaves us with two main questions; 1) What was there before?, and 2) How much of it was built by them?. Unfortunately for us, I don't think there's actually enough in canon to answer either of those questions with any real certainty. The best I can do is suggest possibilities. We do know that there were other parts to the underground outside of the Lanes, so one possibility is that there was already a community inhabiting Entresol that they took over as their own - perhaps a small rebel group, or colonies of Zaunite labourers who lived on that level. These are all the other options I came up with:

There were semi-intact ruins still lying around Entresol that they built out of.

There was a large, empty space in the place that would later become the Lanes. They built on top of this and filled out the entire region.

They literally built the Entresol level themselves. The mining tunnels had been dug out of nothing, and all that was lying on top of them was rock; they quite literally "carve[d] it out of the bedrock", as Felicia's phrasing would imply.

So in summary, I'm imagining that the Sump was the main region of the Undercity at the time, comprising a network of mines where the Grey originated, sewers for wastage from up above, and potentially factories or warehouses as well. Another question is what exactly was being mined here, and again, we can turn to League lore for possible ideas. The prison mines mentioned on the Zaun wiki page were for "Chemtech compounds". Amanda Overton described Silco and Vander as "miners working for topsiders", which makes me wonder - if they were mining for Chemtech compounds - what exactly the topsiders in question wanted to do with those compounds. This brings me back to my long-winded Chemtech musings from Part 1.3. I can think of three primary explanations for this:

The compounds in question could be used for a variety of inventions, not just Chemtech. Perhaps there were elements involved that had to be chemically separated; one of which was safer and used to power Piltover's inventions, while the other was highly toxic and was originally discarded as waste, but later became the basis for Chemtech.

Chemtech was mined and used in smaller doses/quantities in Piltovian inventions, while the people of the Undercity began to use it in larger quantities, harnessing the toxic properties that released the Grey as a byproduct.

Chemtech compounds were one of many things mined, and were used for inventions that were limited to the underground, like mechanical mining and factory tools (drills, bombs, transport, etc.)

Alternatively, if we ignore the mention of Chemtech, we could assume that the underground was rich in natural minerals and resources that Piltovans needed for their inventions. We could also assume they were mining for the other gases and/or liquids that Piltovans used as an energy source (it's mentioned that these came from a "nearby marsh", but I couldn't find an actual canon source for that, so I think it's fine to take some liberties with it). I suspect that there are many other possible explanations, with the foundational principle being that they were mining for materials which the topsiders would then use to boost their own wealth, one way or another.

~~~

Part 3.3: The Creation of Modern Zaun (Golden Age of S&V)

In S1E5, we see an old hideout of Silco and Vander's, with plans for the Nation of Zaun strewn all over the desk and plastered on the walls. I've compiled a list of everything we see in that hideout and where it's all located:

CEILING/TOP

Pipework

Low wooden beams

Lantern box hanging from the ceiling

LEFT OF THE ENTRANCE

Boxes/crates

Barrels

Mining gloves

Shovel

Something coiled and hanging on the left wall - perhaps a rope? Or a hose?

RIGHT OF THE ENTRANCE

Small wooden table

Vanity next to the coat rack

Another shovel

Time-worn plans covering the right wall (maps, tables, lots of illegible writing)

BACK OF THE ROOM

Left corner, storage unit/bookshelf (books, boxes, small lopsided paper bag, cylindrical flask or thick drink bottle?)

Left of centre, jackets and hats

Centre, flag with green, red and gold detailing, NoZ logo in gold

Right corner, coat rack and a ledge with hangers and a kettle

CENTRE OF THE ROOM

Desk (more books, flask, glass, tobacco pipe, letter)

Another crate

Knocked-over stool

Tall chair (for the vanity?)

TRIVIA

Walls are all boarded up with wooden planks and metal reinforcements

Vander’s number: 135 714 (from the canon scene)

Silco’s number: 132 219 (loosely interpreted from the very grainy image in the artbook)

I think it's safe to say that they started devising their vision of Zaun in the mines, with comprehensive plans for the nation that include maps and diagrams, a flag with a logo, and many long pages of writing. I'm guessing they were living here for a while, judging by the flask, the kettle, the paper bag that looks like the kind used to carry food, and the clothes hung up on the wall. The furniture is an interesting detail; I'm struggling to imagine that they got away with dragging all of that furniture down to the mines, which makes me wonder if it was there before. Perhaps it used to be someone's office down there? Or some kind of bunker/storm shelter? I have no clear answer for this so I guess it's entirely up to the imagination.

Then at some point, they got out of the mines and began a smuggling operation to make money. I assume this is the era Vi was talking about when she said the break-in was "the kind of job Vander would've pulled when he was [their] age". I'm not sure exactly how reliable this statement is, or whether it even really tells us anything; Vander could've snuck away from the mines to steal from topside when he was a teenager, before he had even developed the goal of an independent nation, or Vi could've heard rumours about Vander's past that weren't entirely accurate. Still, it's the best we have to go on, and if we assume this references Vander and Silco's smuggling operation, it would imply that they started relatively young. In my opinion, 16-year-old Vi saying "our age" could imply anywhere from about 15-18 realistically, and that gives us a maximum of about a decade between the start of their smuggling ventures and The Last Drop opening. We also have to factor in Silco being 2-3 years younger, which means I'm more inclined to assume Vander was an older teen, if not already in his 20s (unless we're meant to assume they were just extremely young when they started all this, but I think that's unlikely, given they already look like adults while still working in the mines). For the sake of the timeline, we'll say they started their smuggling operation somewhere between the late 950s and early 960s AN.

We also don't know for sure when the Lanes were actually built; whether they started with The Last Drop and built everything around it, or built the Lanes and opened The Last Drop as a finishing touch of sorts. Felicia's lines in the flashback - "You two are going to figure this Zaun thing out. I don't care if you have to carve it out of the bedrock covered in blisters." - definitely make it sound like The Last Drop was built first, and everything else followed. Amanda Overton also specified that the smuggling operation helped Vander and Silco make money, so it seems like they were selling their stolen goods (to topsiders?) and running a back-alley black market operation until they had enough to actually start building.

There were about 10-11 years between the opening of The Last Drop and the estrangement of Silco from his allies, which they spent building the Lanes. I was initially thinking this sounded insane, but from this Reddit thread, I gathered that it's actually a fairly reasonable timeline - especially if we assume that they had others helping them with the physical construction, which I'm certain they would've. One of the commenters in the thread brought up the city of Brasilia, which was a planned city built over the span of about 3.5 years. It has a total federal district area of 5,802km^2 built by about 60,000 people (not sure exactly how much of that area was actually built up; the Demographia World Urban Areas Report 2023 counts a total urban area of 963km^2, similar to the size of Buffalo NY).

There's another post I found by a Redditor who calculated the area and population of Piltover and Zaun using the height of streetlamps as a reference. These totals came out to 5.30km^2 (~100,000 population) and 4.12km^2 (~400,000 population) for Zaun. This was calculated under the assumption that Zaun and Piltover each covered one region on either side of the bridge, so the sizes might differ under the model with Zaun being mostly underneath. However, in this case, the Entresol level alone would be even smaller than 4.12km^2, so the task sounds overall very manageable. Worth noting that I think it's unlikely that Zaun was a precisely planned city like Brasilia was, and more likely that they built up the city around themselves, in response to the growing population and demands for facilities. Although we do see very thorough-looking diagrams on the walls of Vander and Silco's hideout, so I suppose you could reasonably assume any degree of planning.

In canon, we do see some glimpses into the post-Last Drop era through the sequence of Warwick/Vander's memories in S1E6. Here are all the memories we see, in order:

Vander and Silco in the mines

Silco sitting at a bar with a book open in his hands

The flashback from S2E5 with Felicia, Silco and Vander toasting in the bar

Young Vander and Benzo leaning over a counter; both look to be around the same age as they were in Act 1, maybe slightly younger

Felicia pregnant with Powder, and a man (presumably Connol) holding child Vi

Powder, Vi, Mylo and Claggor all standing in a group with their backs turned

Vi sparring with Vander, starting around the age she was in Act 1 and then morphing into her younger child self

Felicia and Connol come home with their mining hats and gloves, and Vi and Powder get excited to see them

Vi tries on the mining glove Felicia gives her

Felicia and Powder cook together

Felicia cuts Vi's hair

Felicia, Powder and Vi chase each other around a post

Felicia measures Vi's height

These being Vander's memories, it seems like the kids had a much more resonant impact on him at the time than Silco or the fight for independence did. This explains a lot with regards to the difference in ideologies that eventually divided Vander and Silco. We also see that Felicia and Connol were still working in the mines when the kids were young, implying that Silco and Vander did not shut down mining operations (perhaps they cleaned it up so the work was less dangerous?). The logo for the Nation of Zaun that we see on the flag & on Silco's notebook doesn't come up ever again, and seems to be absent from the modern timeline.

I'm guessing the focus during this period was on the physical construction of the Lanes, and accumulating more and more capital to distribute among the people of the underground. It definitely seems like they were intending to go to war for their independence, judging by Vander's assumption in S1E3 that Silco wanted to use Shimmer to start a war - as well as Vander telling Vi that he "was angry" when he was younger and wanted to fight for change (S1E2). The flag/logo in their hideout was presumably something they planned to fly once they had achieved an independent Nation of Zaun.

They never did end up engaging in a full-on war though, based on various context clues and dialogue exchanges implying that a) Vander and Silco's revolution was never successful, and b) war between Piltover and Zaun is only hypothetical, rather than something that has happened once before. Vander also indicates that the Day of Ash was a one-off incident ("we crossed that bridge once before" in S1E2), which is consistent with how peaceful his early memories are. I presume they wanted to focus on establishing Zaun as a thriving community first before escalating the issue with Piltover; they couldn't exactly fight for independence if there was no nation to fight for in the first place. They most likely didn't have the numbers to form an actual army either, especially not with the Lanes alone.

Eventually, Vander and Silco incited the bridge riot as what was meant to be the start of a bigger revolution, "thinking things could change". The riot was a massive failure for Zaun, and most of the fighters ended up dead. Vander decided that he had too much to lose and attempted to drown Silco to end the cycle of violence. I tend to assume this happened before Vander picked up the kids, but if you want to stay as loyal as possible to the creators' comments, I think this is a very plausible theory that explains the weird timeline and visual continuity errors.

~~~

Part 3.4: The Creation of Modern Zaun (Aftermath of S&V)

Bonus section to discuss my thoughts on what exactly happened to Silco after the Day of Ash; most of this is conjecture rather than fact.

It's pretty obvious what Vander got up to after the drowning attempt. He made a deal with Grayson to keep Zaunites off of Piltover's streets in return for peace. Much of the infrastructure in The Lanes was built during Vander and Silco's era, but I imagine construction continued into this era as well. However, any progress towards independence stagnated under Vander's leadership.

As for Silco, it seems most likely that he met up with Singed pretty soon after the betrayal. There seems to be a distinct lack of trust between them - Singed hasn't told Silco what his true motivations are, per him vaguely telling Silco "I, too, once had a daughter" (S1E8), and Silco tells Jinx that "you're the only one I can trust with this" when she suggests that he give the Hex crystal to Singed instead (S1E5). Thus, I'm inclined to believe it's a purely practical partnership, unlike Silco's relationship with Vander which was much more personal.

Silco's intention with Shimmer, as he tells Vander, was to mass-produce it at such a scale that it would scare Piltover out of entering the Lanes (many of the wiki pages say he wanted to start a war with Shimmer-enhanced soldiers, but he outright tells Vander that this is not the case). It could be that he wanted a bargaining chip too, given that "discontinue the production of Shimmer" was one of Jayce's conditions for independence in S1E9. So, Silco and Singed joined forces at some point to mass-produce Shimmer, Silco used a variant in the meantime to keep his eye infection at bay, and that brings us to the canon timeline.

I want to look a little bit into Singed and his past, as I'm very curious to know where Silco's vision fits in with Singed's motivations. We don't know exactly how much of Dr. Reveck/Orianna's story translates into Arcane, but we do know the following:

Singed was Dr. Reveck, a "revered academy alchemist" in Piltover. His work was "unparalleled", but he was dismissed from the academy with "no mention of his crime" (from Caitlyn; S2E5).

Everything he's done since his dismissal was to cure his daughter. This included the creation of Shimmer, which he did using Rio (the giant purple creature in the cave) as a vessel through which to sustain the regenerative mutation he wanted to harness. When questioned by Ambessa, he says that he's trying to cure "death".

He runs his operations out of the cave in Zaun where Rio is kept. Viktor worked with him briefly as a child, but became horrified by the sight of Rio connected to a series of wires and clearly in pain, so he left. Later, he is seen working out of several locations that all look slightly different (the place where Warwick is created, and Silco's first office under the river), so either the cave is massive with many rooms, or he has several different HQs for his experiments.

Singed uses Chemtech and Shimmer for all his experiments, often a combination of the two. It seems like Chemtech has the potential to sustain life, and Shimmer has the potential to enhance it.

In comparison, these are the main details of Orianna's origin story in League of Legends:

Corin Reveck was famous for making artificial limbs with intricate brass designs.

His daughter, Orianna, was his apprentice. She was adventurous and inquisitive, and wanted to explore the world outside of Piltover, but Dr. Reveck told her it was too dangerous.

An explosion in Zaun ruptured a chemical line and released clouds of poisonous gas. Orianna wanted to help the victims, but Dr. Reveck wouldn’t let her.

Orianna snuck away at night and helped fix the damage, repairing respirators and installing esophilters (described on the wiki as “a Chemtech augmentation that allows people to breathe noxious fumes safely”). She offered her own mask to a child who was struggling to breathe.

After returning to Piltover, Orianna became terminally ill, lungs ravaged by the toxic fumes. Dr. Reveck built her a new set of lungs, and as the poison spread throughout her body, he continued to build new implants and prosthetics for her until most of her body was mechanical.

The process cost Dr. Reveck his entire fortune, which forced them to relocate to Zaun.

Eventually Dr. Reveck fell ill, and she gave up her last remaining human organ for him - her heart.

There are obvious changes that would have to be made to this story to fit with Arcane lore. For example, Singed was already living in Zaun by the time he met up with Viktor, well before Orianna was revived. It also doesn't seem like he built her "piece by piece" as stated in the original story, instead keeping her alive and unconscious until he was certain he could save her. However, I think a lot of these details can be integrated with Arcane lore, and I have some ideas about exactly where it fits in.

As with all things, I want to figure out a timeline first before anything else. This is what we know so far:

Late 950s-960s AN: Silco and Vander start their smuggling operation with the goal of establishing the Lanes

961 AN: Viktor is born

967 AN: The Last Drop is opened

978 AN: Silco is betrayed by Vander

983 AN: Silco and Singed are working together by this point

I found no information on how old Viktor was when he met Singed, so I'm going to estimate around 12-13 judging by his appearance and voice. This would mean they met around 973-974 AN, which matches up with the timeline, given that Zaun looks quite built-up where we see other children playing (although I'm pretty sure this takes place on the Promenade level? Since it seems to be in direct sunlight). It seems like Singed is a fair way into his venture when Viktor runs into him; he's managed to cultivate the mutation he is looking for, and he has a laboratory of sorts that he operates inside the cave, with a vast array of potions, many different vats and test tubes with mutilated animals inside, and a network of pipes and wires that power his equipment. From this, I presume he's been at it for at least a few years.

With this timeline, Orianna would have fallen ill somewhere in the late 960s, right at the height of Vander and Silco's golden age when they were still building the Lanes. An explosion that ruptured a chemical line is an extremely plausible event to happen during this era, for any number of reasons; a riot in the underground, Enforcers trying to halt the construction of Zaun, explosions used to clear rocks so they had a clear path to build, etc etc. It could've been any number of things. Orianna went down there, against her father's orders, and her lungs were ravaged by the gas. Singed started to focus his research on keeping Orianna's condition stable and devising a cure by testing on animals. His unethical activities were discovered, and he was kicked out of the academy in the early 970s for his experiments. He permanently relocated to Zaun.

Sometime after Silco was betrayed, he and Singed met. I am quite confident that Silco was the one to approach Singed, and my primary justification for this comes from Singed's conversation with Viktor in S1E7. Viktor tries to pretend that he wants to use Shimmer on plants, and Singed expresses that he knows what Viktor is really there for, by saying "I know the look of a doomed man". I am convinced that he is talking about Silco here. From what we see of Singed's past before meeting Silco, he had only experimented on animals, and the only human involved before Viktor was his daughter. None of that would justify him "know[ing] the look of a doomed man". I don't think he's talking about himself either, since his injuries don't appear to be fatal and we never see him using himself as a test subject.

So I think Silco somehow found out about his operations and came to him seeking help after the betrayal. Silco had no power without Vander - all their friends/allies that we know of were either dead (Felicia and Connol) or took Vander's side (Benzo and Sevika) - and after being exposed to the toxins in the Pilt, he definitely would have been at risk for a much worse infection if left untreated. He was already taking his injections when we first see him in canon, and it actually looks like Singed might have even performed surgery of some kind on Silco, given that he has both eyelids in the actual drowning scene but one of them is missing later on.

This also helps explain what Singed was getting out of the deal, since Silco couldn't offer him anything tangible at the time; he essentially acted as Singed's first human test subject for a cure. We don't know if Silco's early injections involved Shimmer though, or if he was using some other temporary cure (Chemtech?) that Singed came up with for him before Shimmer had been perfected. Singed mentions to Viktor that he has several different variants of Shimmer, and he was already working on it for at least a little while before Silco came to him, so I'm assuming it was probably one of these variants. If that's the case, I'd guess that Silco is using a stronger dosage after the timeskip, since he responds to it differently (in S1E1 he injects it very calmly with no visible reaction at all, while later on in the series, his body seizes up and he looks to be in pain).

I'm interested in what comes after that, too. I could absolutely understand Singed agreeing to help Silco out after the betrayal, since Silco is in a similar position to Viktor at that point, and a very valuable tool in Singed's research. What I'm curious about is why Singed then agrees to mass-produce Shimmer and "flood the lanes" with it, as it's often described. These are the two explanations I came up with:

Singed wanted to explore the effects of Shimmer on the "average person", so to speak. Flooding the Lanes with Shimmer means putting it in the hands of anyone and everyone, which means ample test subjects for Singed to observe and learn from. The main issue I can think of with this theory is that Singed does all of his research from inside his lab, and one of the key things he notes about himself is that he's a loner, so it doesn't seem like he was going out there and doing field research. There could have been ways for him to learn from afar, though.

Silco offered to make Singed rich. Silco knew Shimmer could turn the tides back in his favour, and he could have tempted Singed to join him with the promise of everything they could eventually have. Early in Season 1, they share an office space underwater, and they have many giant factories with regular shipments in and out of Piltover after the timeskip. We can only assume that both of them became wealthy from this, with Singed making enough money to continue his research, and Silco making enough to build the version of the underground that he always envisioned.

And finally, I want to jump back to the aforementioned discussions about Chemtech, because something is still bugging me about it. If Chemtech existed before Hextech, and it's supposed to be this brilliant but toxic formula at the heart of Zaun's inventions, why didn't they ever weaponise it against Piltover? We know that Jinx uses Chemtech for her bombs, and Renni is seen using a chainsaw powered by Chemtech - and we also know that Silco and Vander both wanted to fight Piltover. So if Chemtech is a power source exclusive to Zaun, why didn't they mass-produce Chemtech weapons or release toxic gases into the streets of Piltover as part of their fight for independence? And after the timeskip, when Silco is working on his own, why did he focus on the production of Shimmer when Chemtech already existed?

By the time we catch up with everyone in canon in S1E1, Chemtech is very widespread. It looks like the Undercity is essentially built on it, with green lights everywhere and massive structures powered entirely by chemicals. I think it's reasonable to assume that Vander and Silco were the ones who facilitated the widespread use of Chemtech. This would fill in a lot of the gaps with regards to the precise timeline of Chemtech usage; it could have been something they once used sparingly, for things like mining equipment and light sources, but when Silco and Vander built the Undercity, it became a staple of Zaunite infrastructure. Since there was a long period over which they were smuggling goods out of Piltover and preparing to start building their nation, they could have also used that time to start developing Chemtech. I'm guessing they would've recruited someone to do this for them, since neither Vander nor Silco seem to have a knack for invention.

This leaves me with three theories with regards to the potential for Chemtech to become a weapon:

Theory 1 - They did try to use it against Piltover, but their attempts were always unsuccessful (e.g. the Day of Ash riot).

This one is pretty self-explanatory. They tried to use Chemtech weapons against Piltover, but the Enforcers were just too powerful. There are two main issues with this theory; the first being that we don't know how exactly the Enforcers would have overpowered them without Hextech, and the second being that, when we see Silco and Vander on the bridge during that riot, there's no sign of Chemtech's trademark green. Silco has a very standard-looking Molotov cocktail that produces orange flames, and Vander uses his mining gloves to beat up the Enforcers using brute force. I suppose the Molotov could have been filled with chemicals, so it's still an option.

Theory 2 - Chemtech isn't powerful enough on its own.

I believe this is the most plausible theory of the three. Chemtech is an energy source, good for powering things like light sources and machinery, but in itself, we don't actually see any evidence to suggest that it's useful on a larger scale. Powder's bombs don't work when she's younger, despite being powered by Chemtech - and even then, Chemtech is never the main feature anyway, with her bombs either being smoke-powered or filled with nails. In S1E4, Councilor Hoskel describes Zaun's "ingenuity over the years", with specific mentions of "Shimmer" and "body replacements"; I would assume, if Zaun really was capable of making deadly weapons with Chemtech, he would have mentioned that as well. Chemtech does appear to be the sole power source behind Renni's chainsaw, but mass-producing chainsaws as a war weapon is not the most practical nor smart strategy. Chemtech just isn't effective enough to make weapons that can be used to fight Piltover with, or on a large enough scale to put them in the hands of average Zaunites.

A major point in favour of this theory is the fact that no one in the Undercity seems to have guns except Jinx, which I find really interesting. During the bridge riot, all of the Enforcers are armed with guns, while Vander fights with his fists, and Silco fights with the aforementioned Molotov cocktail. Later, we see that Sevika and Vi also fight with their fists, and the Firelights use hoverboards and spears. Vander has a dagger which Silco later uses as his own melee weapon of choice. So why does no one in Zaun have guns? Surely Jinx can't be the only person who's ever thought to make her own? The answer has to be that they don't have access to them; either the money to buy them or the materials to make them. The Enforcers are always armed with them, and families like the Kirammans are known to hunt recreationally, which seems to demonstrate that guns are a mark of wealth and status. Jinx is only able to make hers once she's living with Silco, who could easily source the supplies for her.

Theory 3 - They did manage to successfully weaponise Chemtech against Piltover, but Piltover was able to harness the chemicals for themselves before Zaun could take advantage of it.

We know in canon that Silco's goal was to use Shimmer as something powerful enough to scare Piltover off their streets. I think it could be interesting if this was initially the plan for Chemtech, but the council caught wind of this dangerous invention, and commissioned the academy to work on a solution - just like Silco does with Jinx when Hextech becomes an issue. Piltover created Chemtech weapons of their own, so that Zaun would no longer have a technological advantage.

This is where Singed comes in. I think it could be interesting if Singed was the alchemist recruited to work on Chemtech; perhaps even Heimerdinger too, given that Singed mentions them having worked together. Singed managed to extract the chemicals used for Chemtech and create defensive measures against it for Piltover, thus explaining why he had such a good handle on it when he transferred his operations to Zaun. Either he managed to safely extract it, and it was subsequently used for smaller inventions in Piltover (thus explaining the green lamp and the pneuma tube gas in Grayson's office), or he made weapons that were just as toxic and dangerous as those in Zaun, which had to be locked away in case of absolute emergency (this would make sense if we assume Heimerdinger had a part in it; there's no way he would let them use it freely). This theory also explains why Singed would be especially cautious about letting Orianna visit the underground, if he was working with Chemtech himself at the time and knew how dangerous it could be.

Here's my proposal for a rough timeline, using this theory:

Late 950s-960s AN: Silco and Vander start their smuggling operation with the goal of establishing the Lanes.

Early 960s AN: Chemical compounds are smuggled out of the mines, and a group of rebels start using it to develop new inventions, per Silco and Vander's plan.

967 AN: The Last Drop is opened; Vander and Silco start actually building the Lanes. Piltover catches wind of the construction and tries to send Enforcers down there to stop them, but they use newly-forged Chemtech weapons to keep them out. Enforcers are ordered by the council to stay out of the underground due to the danger. Singed (and possibly Heimerdinger) starts working with the compounds mined for Chemtech to develop stronger defensive measures.

Late 960s AN: During construction of the Lanes, something goes wrong that results in the release of toxic gases from Chemtech (a "ruptured chemical line", according to Orianna's League lore story). Singed is the first in Piltover to learn about it, and Orianna overhears. He warns her not to go down there; she does not listen. She goes to help the victims, and falls gravely ill. Singed continues his Chemtech research as authorised, but starts a side project using the chemicals to develop a cure, with a giant vat of liquid to keep her alive in the meantime.

Early 970s AN: Singed's unethical experiments are discovered, and he is booted out of the academy and stripped of his status. He permanently relocates to Zaun.

978 AN: The Day of Ash; Vander and Silco lead an army across the bridge, Enforcers fight back, disaster strikes. It's the first fight for which Piltover brings out the locked-away Chemtech weapons, which is what makes it so explosive (we see Enforcers' guns explode on impact in S1E1, which they don't seem to do any other time).

978 AN (cont'd): Silco finds out about Singed's research somehow and they meet up. Silco knows that Chemtech is no longer an advantage for the Undercity, so he seeks a new solution. Meanwhile, Vander makes his deal with Grayson, and Chemtech weapons on both sides are destroyed.

983 AN: Singed tests his newest Shimmer variant on a rat. He determines that it's now adequate for a human to drink.

This theory does have a few minor holes - Hoskel's line in S1E4 again being one of them, as well as the fact that Silco doesn't consider the possibility of weaponising Hextech until after Jinx steals the crystal - but I find it to be the most intriguing, and could be a compelling way of tying all these stories together.

~~~

Part 4: Wrap-Up

PHEW. We've finally reached the Sump. If you read this entire post, congrats on making it all the way down here! This was over 12k words total so certainly a behemoth to get through; thank you so much for sticking with me <3

I wanted to include one final summary of the timeline, colour-coded to indicate where all this information comes from. I’ve used blue to indicate origins in League of Legends lore, green to indicate Arcane lore (according to the wiki), and red to indicate that I extrapolated the dates myself. In case anyone has trouble distinguishing red and green, I’ve also included an asterisk (*) next to all the reds.

6000-5000 BN: Westward Migration. Humans began to migrate towards the Shuriman Continent. One of the new cities founded was a sea port called Oshra Va’Zaun.

2000-3 BN: Various Wars. Several wars happened during this time; Janna protected Oshra Va’Zaun from every conflict.

676 AN: Heimerdinger is born. He is 307 (Act 1) / 314 (Act 2).

772 AN: The Collapse. The people of Oshra Va’Zaun attempted to crack open an area of the land using Chemtech bombs. The bombs triggered a series of earthquakes that destroyed the isthmus.

790 AN: Piltover is Established. The ruins of Oshra Va’Zaun underwent extensive reconstruction, and the new city of Piltover was built over the Pilt River.

940 AN: Vander is born. He is 43 / 50.

*943 AN: Silco is born. He is 40 / 47.

*Late 950s-Early 960s AN: Smuggling begins. Vander and Silco start their smuggling operation.

959 AN: Jayce is born. He is 24 / 31.

961 AN: Viktor is born. He is 22 / 29.

966 AN: Caitlyn is born. She is 17 / 24.

966-67 AN: Felicia-Vander-Silco scene. A milestone of Zaun's development is celebrated in The Last Drop.

967 AN: Vi is born. She is 16 / 23.

972 AN: Jinx is born. She is 11 / 18.

*978 AN: Silco is betrayed. Beginning of Vander's solo reign and an armistice between Piltover and Zaun.

983 AN: Events of Season 1 Act 1. The Kiramman warehouse is raided, Hextech is invented, and Powder accidentally kills most of her family.

990 AN: Events of Season 1 Act 2. The main Arcane timeline starts here.

I cannot emphasise enough that I put this all together on my own with zero knowledge of League lore going into it, so there are bound to be gaps and inaccuracies somewhere along the way. This is by no means intended as the be-all and end-all of Arcane lore guides, but hopefully there are things in here that someone else will find helpful!

Good luck with your fanworks ventures :-)

[acerathia]

how art is made (out of your desire) || Qi Yu | Rafayel

Summary:

Art is something subjective. It's supposed to be. Yet, it seems that everyone agrees what art is. You don't. To you Art is something special, something only you understand. Until you met him.

Wordcount: 4.9k (lol?)

Read on AO3

Pairing:

Professor!Qí Yù | Rafayel / f!non-MC!Art Student!Reader

Tags/CW:

Minors and Ageless Blogs DNI!! porn with some plot, art is subjective, and extremly horny here, semi-public masturbation (in a bathroom), orgasm denial, private masturbation (help lol), both vaginal fingering, edging, bodily fluids used in art, squirting, lowkey strip tease?, cucking as in, he's watching her masturbate idk if that's right lol, cunnilingus, pussy job, piv, some kind of exhibitionism, u will get it LMAO, this is without feelings, what if i kms, this is weird and lowkey gross and for meee

Note:

professor rafayel is lowkey insane and i need him in my guts thanks

Nobody truly knows what Art is for them. Many simply tell the normal and usual response.

“Art is an expression, some sort of communication.” “It’s entirely subjective.” “Everyone has their own interpretation of its meaning.” “The artist had an idea, a feeling and put it onto the canvas for us to understand.” “It’s the technique that matters.”

Nothing out of the ordinary, standard words for people to repeat without putting much thought into Art itself. Not you, though. To you, Art is something out of this world, something that sends shivers down your spine, making your heart beat, your blood rush, your head spin; something that excites you to the core. It’s reverence, it’s worship, it’s lust.

Maybe because of this difference in views, you can’t help but be bored to death at every single of your lectures. The professors, failed artists in your eyes, droning on about the techniques and how to use tools to use your skills to the fullest. Nothing but empty words when the right feeling is missing, when Art is missing.

That’s why you had pretty low expectations for your newest lecture. The professor is allegedly a famous artist, teaching just for some time, exclusively. Not that you care, most artists aren’t more than people with nimble fingers and connections.

At first, you did try to get into their world, to get to know all the different artists and their styles, what made them special, what made them stand out. But every time you stood in front of a painting, you felt… nothing. None of all these pretty decorations evoked anything in you, and soon boredom turned into frustration. Your dream was to belong, to have your own work join their ranks. But after disappointment after disappointment, you could not even think about your silly dream. Was it truly worth risking your beliefs just to fit in? To strip everything that makes art Art for you just to make it pleasing for all of these people with nothing but time and money? This realization made you turn your back on the world of artists, diving into your own Art, ignoring all possible repercussions of your intentional ignorance.

So, the professor at the front of the room is a complete stranger to you, but you do notice the reach of his fame, as the whispers stack on top of each other, getting louder with each student entering. You simply ignore the fawning and take a seat in a place where you can just not pay attention. Because the only reason you’re here is for the credits. And this new professor isn’t going to change your opinion about their type of art just with his senseless blabbering, probably filled with praise towards himself.

Still, you try to at least act as if you’re interested in what he’s saying, just until he’s not paying as much attention towards his audience anymore. You set your eyes towards him, and you freeze. Purple hair, soft as clouds above the setting sun, a gentle face, smooth and akin to beautiful marble. But what really gets your insides in a turmoil are his eyes. The way they shine when the light hits them, and the coldness hiding underneath all that radiance. Eyes that belong to someone with a certain touch, something similar to you, yet entirely different.

Your heartbeat rises, your lips curling ever so slightly. Oh, how much you desire to see a single work of his, to see if it could change your world. And so, despite your initial rejection, you begin to pay attention to what he says. Careful, one might even think calculated. Every word leaving his lips is akin to a script, something Rafayel, as he introduced himself as, is simply saying to please the masses. But you know, you know the way he’s speaking is different, the way his body coordinates so flawlessly with his words, but there’s always something off, and you know. Words which seem so pliant and meaningless, sprinkled with what he truly wants to express, hidden for anyone to see. And you were hanging on his lips, piecing everything into rough patches in your mind, out of order, nonsensical, but something.

Until he finally reveals one of his paintings, as part of the impending discussion. The moment your eyes lay on the canvas, the way the colors flow into each other, you gasp silently. The emotions seeping out of every brushstroke are caressing your skin, flowing into your veins, tickling the deepest part of you. The painting is filled with desire so intricate, so deep, you grin with excitement, pure unadulterated excitement, throbbing and twitching.

With this, you knew that Professor Rafayel is just like you, that his kind of Art is filled with the same meaning as yours does. A buzz is filling your brain, one stemming from all the possibilities, all the Art you can create under his tutelage; together with him.

The bubbling under your skin does not abate even after the lecture is over, your eyes never leaving him out of your sight, drinking him in, every single motion, every single word. You take everything, and you thirst for more.

That’s why you straighten yourself out, making sure that you look the right balance between amazed, worried and meek, hiding all your hunger away, before you make your way to his desk.

“Good morning, Professor Rafayel. Uhm, I love your art, the way the colors interlink and create this atmosphere, it’s amazing! Uh, what I wanted to say is, that I’m worried– worried that I might not do good work in this class. Do– Would you mind if I showed you my progress occasionally? Maybe give me some pointers?”

His eyes briefly glance over your face, and you barely hide a shiver, feeling your heart beat loudly in your ears. It’s obvious that Rafayel is a genius, and you don’t doubt he has seen through your empty compliment, but as most people sound the same, you’re not worried that he will call you out. Rather, it will strengthen your facade, making him believe that you’re truly as clueless as you make yourself out to be. So, you nibble at your lower lip and furrow your eyebrows ever so slightly, not too much, but just enough for it to look like a subconscious action.

“Alright, you can do so during my office hours,” he finally responds, scrawling all the information you need on a piece of paper and handing it to you.

Thanking him profusely, you leave the lecture hall, and the moment you step out, a grin breaks over your face, the tip of your tongue gliding over the edges of your teeth. You have finally found something that can satiate you, another person with the same essence as you.

So, without stalling for a single second, the moment the door to his office unlocks, you’re already carrying your painting with much care into the room, and give him a smile the moment your eyes meet. With a simple flick of the wrist, he shows you where you can set the canvas for the upcoming analysis.

The painting is one of the lighter ones. The real motive hidden behind the swirling colors of the waves, entering and leaving a cave, gushing. If one knew how to look, they would uncover the yearning, or rather, the desire behind each brushstroke. This painting got created with a mix of oil and water, highlighting the insinuation for those who get it. Normal paint, not the ones you mix specifically at home. No, those mixtures are used for that kind of painting you had yet to show. You first have to make sure that your intuition has not lied to you about Rafayel.

The artist has positioned himself in front of the canvas at the perfect distance and you watch as his eyes glide over every single decision of yours. Chaotic strokes and a use of paints that could only be called unrefined in the eyes of those who seek perfection. But every single one of these was a rational decision, every single one shows the heights you’re willing to reach, ignoring all that is natural and accepted.

You don’t know how long it takes, because you’re simply staring at him, watching every single reaction, down to the tiniest twitch. And then he faces you, a small smile playing around his plush lips.

“Interesting work. The emotional resonance could be stronger, though. Do you mix your own paints?” he cocks his head, his eyes wandering over your face, almost like it’s the first time he’s truly seeing you, like you weren’t even worth noticing before.

And now you are. You nod. Not trusting yourself to speak, as the depth of his eyes is revealed before you, their intensity not only shining through, but outright swallowing everything else. All of this makes your blood hot and you bite on your lower lip to suppress an inappropriately excited grin.

“Good. Next time, bring me one of those paintings. That’s when we can truly start with Art, yeah?”

A shiver runs down to your spine and you feel your lungs collapse, breathlessness wracking your body as you feel heat throughout your body. Before your reaction becomes too obvious, you thank him, giddiness tainting your voice, before you leave with your painting.

There’s barely enough time to stumble to the next bathroom, locking yourself into the cramped space, before you begin to pant, moans stuck in your throat. Before you know it, your belongings already strewn across the ground, your hand has dipped into your pants. Quickly, your fingers touch your throbbing clit, strokes after strokes after strokes, in circles, with more and less pressure, akin to how a painting is made. Slowly, they drag towards your slit, warm and wet, a cave yet to be filled, the waves yet to crash.

But instead of using your fingers to enter, you simply let the pads tease your entrance, and you shiver and clench. The aching hole, needy, bothered, yearning to be filled, an emptiness evoking nothing but inspiration. Your very own muse. One that cannot be taken away from you, ever. Your body tenses when your fingertips return to your clit, touch too feathery for your liking, but this lack of satisfaction makes you lightheaded, and you feel yourself climbing, climbing, one step and you’re going to–

With the last shreds of self control, you jerk your fingers away from your hot bud, your insides hollow and craving. Not yet, you’re only going to give yourself the heights of pleasure once you finish a painting that will make him look at you, truly look and see you.

A shaky sigh, before you fix your rumpled appearance and collect your scattered things. With the unsatedness settling in your body, you rush back to your atelier, inspiration fueled once again.

Once there, you grab your palette, dried colors flaking off of the surface. What you want, need, to show him should not be any old art of yours, no, it should be proper Art, the exact one Professor Rafayel is seeking.

There are uncountable tubes of paint sitting each in their own corner, but for this painting, you shall not use any normal paint. A stack of cans is hidden in a cabinet, each color painstakingly collected, wrung out, until mixing each component brought you these colors. Their consistency and shimmer something one could only replicate if they shared the same sentiment as yours. And of course, a small container, barely as big as your little finger, and its content even smaller. This truly is something that only exists for you, only imitations are possible, but perfect copies never. Unless you allow them to. But it has been ages since you have been attracted to another artist.

A thought creeps up at this, and you lick your lips. Maybe, if everything works out with Professor Rafayel, he might get a bit, and you might get another component for your colors. You wonder how that one might affect your painting.

For now, you set the small container away, it’s the last step to finish the painting, and then you turn towards the open white space of the canvas, and you remember how you felt earlier, how it felt to rise, rise, rise, only to plummet into nothingness. You let these feelings flow into the paint brush and you move, guided by your reverence, by your lust, towards Art.

The colors mix and flow, gush and squirt. Pushing and pulling, hitting the right areas, over and over again, getting the perfect angle with every stroke. Letting the tip caress and touch and love. Moving in circles, in patterns, pressure against the hot spot at the right time, and it drops and drips.

Heaving, panting, hot and feeling sticky, you finally take the small container combined with the smallest brush in your arsenal. You press your tongue against your teeth as you slowly spread the fluid where you need it to be, where it would have the most effect on your painting.

Only after the finishing touches do you unravel, feeling the high of Art, of this painting, penetrating you, making your insides squirm with want and desire. You throw your head back slightly and you moan, letting this feeling overtake you. This is what true satisfaction feels like, and it would reach new heights once you show this piece to Professor Rafayel, once you experience his reaction to it.

You let your piece dry, as there’s still time until you can visit him again. So, all you do until then is attend lectures as you have been, keeping the tension in you going and going, never letting it snap or slip away. Even if you were pretty close to losing control when Professor Rafayel made intense eye contact during one of his talks about the emotions and the way they manifest in art. Something about the way he looked at you made you clench and swallow.

And when he beckons you to talk to him after class is over, you feel your blood heat up with excitement, rushing to your head.

“How can I help you, Professor?”

Without a preamble, he gives you a slightly crumpled piece of paper. “Let’s change locations for the next meeting. I think it would be more ideal to do so. Do you mind?”

You shake your hand and glance at the address written.

“Good. See you then.”

His back is already facing you before you could say goodbye, but you don’t mind, your mind is too preoccupied with the fact that he wants to avoid meeting on campus. You knew your intuition about him was right.

With a grin splitting your face, you make your way home to grab your latest painting, before you input the address into your phone.

You have no idea how long it took you to get there, but standing in front of the gate closing off the huge mansion rips you out of your excitement-induced trance. This eerily looks like a home rather than just an atelier, just some place. Your ribs tingle and you hum. This is getting better with every step. You barely remember to ring the bell, your insides twitching and nudging, and all you want to do is grab him and show him what you’re capable of.

The gate swings open and you step through, feet almost silent on the soft rock leading you to the entrance of the mansion. You take a breath before entering with a knock.

“Professor?” You look around, trying to find the atelier in this huge place.

“Drop that, we’re not in university, right now, we’re just two artists,” his voice sounds behind you and you twitch in surprise and turn around to face him.

His words, coupled with his baring shirt and flushed face, make you unable to speak, suddenly stunned. Rafayel looks like he has been painting passionately and this, coupled with the removal of the societal barrier between you, make you lightheaded, your blood rushing into your fingertips, into your core, and weirdly enough, over your nape. You can only nod, clutching the canvas desperately.

He glances at your hidden work and cocks his head to make you follow him. And he leads you into his spacious atelier, paint and brushes, marble and chisels, a controlled chaos. You can’t help but stop to stare at some of his unfinished works, bare bones, but enough to light something in you, to make you yearn for something so far away, seemingly forever out of reach. His works are simply on another different level, out of your world, you can barely imagine how he might have achieved this.

“Hey, you can put it on this one,” he calls out to you, pointing towards a free easel.

A couple quick steps and you have caught up to him, and you put your painting where he has shown you, removing the covering at the same time. You notice the cloth covering the ground, but who are you to understand the whims of a genius artist.

You put some distance so he can have proper space to see your work while you watch him. Watch him scrutinize your work, analysing every single brushstroke, every single color combination. Like a lot of your paintings, it looks like a simple one, until you dare to dive deeper. This one shows the waves crash against an impossible cliff, trying to reach the edge but failing with each wave, with each push. To you, it’s obvious what your intent is, but you hope it’s clear to another person, to him.

There’s the tiniest clench in his jaw and you keep your eyes on him, wide and expectant, you’re not even trying to put on a mask anymore, it’s too late for that anyway. Soon after that miniscule reaction, he turns his head to face you, eyebrows ever so slightly furrows.

“This is excellent work. Truly, the repression is visually and emotionally resonant, making the viewer feel stifled as they’re failing to reach the climax. But say, how did you produce this?”

With a long stride, he’s letting his fingertips swipe ever so slightly over one of the parts you have coated in your very own mixture. And you almost whimper when you see him smell and lick it off his skin. All while holding eye contact with you.

“Why don’t you show me? Hm?”

You release the air out of your lungs, a little raspy, bordering between a giggle and a moan, and roll your shoulders and neck. Then, you make eye contact with him, as you let your fingertips wander over your throat and collarbones, drawing the line of your chest, splayed across the peak, before your palm beets your tummy, closer to the waistband of your pants.

Playing with the button, you ask him with heavy eyelids: “How much do you want to see?”

While you have been putting up this act, Rafayel has made himself comfortable on the closest couch. Positioned like it was his plan all along. From his seat, he cocks his head, fingers tapping slightly tapping against his temple, his body unrestrained, smooth and laidback, draped over the armrest, legs spread apart.

“Everything. Impress me.”

At his words, you hum, a suppressed moan in disguise, as you feel your insides twist and tense, yearning. With a flick you unbutton your pants and grab the zipper, slowly dragging it down, click by clack, his eyes watching your every move.

Without hesitation, you simply let your pants drop to the floor with a little shimmy of your hips. And maybe you did draw your motions out a little bit, just to see how his eyes follow each sway. Your pants out of the way, you lower yourself to the ground, legs apart to for him to see your still covered cunt and the wet spot on your underwear.

“Usually, I have something to collect it, but I suppose that won’t be necessary today, hm? This is but a demonstration. So, maybe a little censorship would make sense, don’t you agree?”

You watch as his eyebrows furrow, realization dawning upon him, as your fingers find your clit, pressing on your throbbing bud with the cloth still inbetween. A moan slips between your lips as you stroke it, drawing patterns on it, a piece in progress, swiping and flicking, controlled in a way a painter’s brush flows over the canvas. A calculated mess. The pressure sinking and rising, the angles changing, the position gliding. You know what your body needs, but to you, it matters more to satisfy the voices demanding for more and more Art. And the Art in this current situation is simple: A Show.

So, you follow the stream of one, building the tension more and more, hitting every spot that sends electricity down your nerves, until you’re about to reach the climax, only to stop, a cliff, the depression, tension dropping. Your moans turn into whines, even if you’re the one doing this to yourself, letting yourself hang in suspension. His eyes feel hot against your skin as he takes you in, takes every motion, every twitch of your hips, every drop dripping onto the whiteness underneath you. And you grin, tongue against the edge of your teeth, when you notice the strain in his pants. The effect of your Show, of your Art on him makes you clench around nothing, feeling yourself getting worked up without even touching yourself again.

After the little pause, you resume, fingertips stroking over your hot bud towards your slit, and you tease your aching hole with slow motions. You catch his eyes for a moment and you let your eyelashes flutter as you moan, deliberately making it sound close to his name, but not quite enough. With each dip of your fingers, with each caress, you feel your insides tighten, electricity tingling between your nervendings. Until with a certain flick, a finishing brush, you unravel, twitching and moaning, a resolution fit for the finishing act.

Panting, you put your hands behind you to support you, and you cock your head at him with a grin.

“Does that answer your inquiry? I doubt you could replicate it, though, unless you have me,” you raise your hand and stretch it towards him, and from your perspective it looks like he’s sitting on your palm.

“The Art we could create together, just imagining the possibilities inspires me again.” You close your eyes as you shiver slightly.

A shuffle, steps, and then Rafayel is crouching in front of you, taking your hand to kiss the tips of your fingers, his tongue licking the wetness clinging to them. With dark eyes he looks to you and smiles. A smile filled with something calculating and sinister, and your grin broadens as you give him the same look back, eyes wide and excited at the words he speaks next.

“With pleasure.”

With these words, his knees hit the ground and he crowds your space immediately. His breath mingles with yours, but he immediately pushes your torso to the ground, before he makes himself comfortable between your thighs, his hot breath now cooling the wet cloth of your underwear.

“Let’s make Art,” he murmurs as he completely removes your panties, throwing them aside.

Not allowing you a moment to register what he’s planning, his mouth is already on you, tongue running once over your sticky folds, and his groan vibrates against you as he tastes you. Swiftly, he latches onto your clit, sucking and licking, teasing the throbbing, still sensitive bud with each move. His hands grab your thighs, holding you in place as your hips buck in reflex, yearning for the new sensation. For some time, all he does is let his tongue glide over your clit over and over again, enjoying the way your body tenses with each stroke. There’s a meticulousness to his lapping, a precision one only wields when holding a brush. And it seems that you have turned into a part of his canvas.

His control leads to your climax being delayed over and over again, every time you feel close to the edge, he pulls away, almost like he’s observing you, thinking over his next steps, how he wants to finish this piece. And you don’t know what he wishes to achieve but you’re willing to do anything for Art. So, you moan his name and tense over his tongue over and over again, feeling yourself drip and gush. Until he finally allows you to reach the edge of the canvas, one last stroke and it’s done, you unravel and out of your frays Art is made.

Your body limp on the ground and you barely look up as you hear the sound of the zippers, seeing him pull his pants just enough down to reveal his hardened length, pre dripping from the tip. His hands grab your hip, fingertips carefully digging into your flesh, as Rafayel pulls you closer to him, hip to hip, his cock pressing against your clit, and you whimper at the sensation.

“Before the real mixing starts, we gotta have all the necessary materials, don’t you think?” he murmurs before he begins to jerk his hips.

His silky tip presses against your throbbing clit, and the rest of him follows as he lets his length slide through your folds, carefully avoiding your wet slit, the one clenching with every time he moves his cock through you. His veins rub against your heat and you moan, his suppressed groans growing with each slide, twitching against you. You can’t help but grind your hips against his, trying to get more pressure, more of him. With each move, you feel your insides tense up, his length slick with your wetness, gliding and pressing against your aching bud. The way your sexes rub together, the noise, the slickness feels like that sort of Art where every viewer gets to participate, gets to feel what has been felt before. And before you knew it, you were watching him cum, splattering onto the white cloth, mixing with your earlier demonstration. Just seeing him twitch and the way his spend is pumping out, feeling its heat against your skin, makes the tension snap in you, just barely.

“Hng… perfect… now, the climax of this piece,” he rasps against your skin, eyes hovering over your face.

You barely have time to grasp his shoulders in an attempt to ground yourself some way, before you feel it. His tip slowly pushing into your entrance, spreading you apart bit by bit. Filling the aching void you have always left behind, the one always spurring your inspiration. The very one now getting replaced by another kind of pleasure, another kind of Art. You moan his name, clenching around him the moment he has filled you to the hilt, your hip against his, grinding, rubbing, slick and wet, and pure Art.

For a moment, everything stands still, the rapture of attention, the discovery of something so innate to life and what it means to create. Until his hips move, pulling out of you, slowly, drawing out like a brush following a measured line. And then he pushes into you again, angling your hips to hit that sensitive spot inside you, to get you messy and babbling underneath his touch. That’s how Art should affect people, turning their minds into a chaos, incomprehensible yet swirling you to the core.

Groans slipping from his lips mix with whimpers of your own as Rafayel finds a pace that satisfies you both, steady, careful, yet filled with conviction and decisiveness with which one would wield a pen to paper. His fingers find your clit and they add more pressure, more sensation, more texture and feelings, and you suddenly burst at the seams, sparks and colors filling your vision as you spasm and clench around him.

The way you tighten around him leads to his own climax, but he pulls out of you before he fills you with his heat, a decision you’re slowly beginning to understand.

Because as you pant and try to recover, you notice how the once white sheet has turned into different colors. With a surprised noise you support yourself on your elbows and take a closer look.

“Do you like it? The colors react to acidity and basicity making them appear. And see, desire is Art, Art is desire, and together, well, I think we can achieve the pinnacle of Art, yeah?”

You giggle, and even after he has milked you dry, you still feel a twist in your tummy, hot and delicious. “That is how Art is made after all, isn’t it?”

The same white canvas, the one colored with your pure desire, mixing and swirling, is soon exhibited amongst his paintings, your name by his side, a collaboration for all to see, with much more depth than anyone could ever comprehend (but not for you, every time you glance at this piece of Art, you see the outlines of your hips, your legs, the dents of his knees, his colors and yours, and the way they coordinate, mix). As for both of you, Art is Lust, Art is Desire. Something much more than what the common folk acknowledges, it’s something to pour your whole body into, no matter the consequences. So, you will continue to thread this path of Art, no longer alone, no longer with shut eyes, but with excitement and him by your side, discovering more and more ways to turn these feelings into expressions and colors. Showing each other how art is made out of your desire.

[widefuturesss]

it’s crazy, confusing and humbling reaching this stage in my becoming where I’m no longer the youngest in the midst of my fellow co-creators

and by young, I even mean young in the practice of becoming a creator of worlds; I had wide eyes and was happy to connect with anyone willing to share knowledge, resources, space and simply: validation,,, yet my willingness to share my potential (because I didn’t exactly know how to or what direction to cultivate it in) led to a lot of uneven relationships with power hierarchies and various forms of abuse & exploitation. It was like I was yearning for community in an industry of cliques, which reminds me of how as a kid I always caught the eye of popular kids but could never fully fit into their spaces because through and true I’ve always been an outcast, a nigga attracted to soul beyond an exterior, I feel truly seen in the margins; and I can truly see the non-visible, it is where I find most realness, I mean real roots is indeed in the underground

But yea, all this to say that I’m at a place where I can rlly see how we’re inspiring and influencing another age of young people, most especially femme spirits. It’s been an honor to be able to validate and advice and also give platform to y’all because it really feels like I’m giving it to 15 year old me that rlly just wanted to grow. Yet it is also an eye opener as I come to forgive the older sistahs that made me feel small, because I understand how industry makes us competitive and feel as though there’s a scarcity that we must need to fiercely protect in order to maintain our relevance

I also just understand the insecurities of this existence, and how capitalism tells you there can only be One best according to a fixed and rigged standard of value based production… i understand the tensions of jealousy and rivalry, it’s crazy cuz it doesn’t just come from u but the people around you, back in Nigeria, niggas was telling me “this person is copying you”, this person is soo you coded blah blah blah but damn! This shit is poisonous to the mind — I want to become so my sistahs may become, so we may all become and raise the frequency of our collective space and materiality,,,

yet it’s easy to be power hungry in this world, especially when people actually wanna be fans/followers as supposed to co-creators… it’s hard not having an ego when some ppl straight up wanna worship u

I’m tryin my best and learning fr on this journey of figuring it out, most especially also learning my boundaries! Because it’s one thing being inspired and honoring the legacy and heritage of where our languages and methods are being sourced from, versus straight up just imitating and duplicating an aesthetic that limítates the ecosystem we’ve been building

much more to say but I feel grateful to be sharing these thoughts because wow, what a journey it has been already

[xlibra-rising]

The 1st House

The 1st house is the house of knowing your surroundings and the immediate world around you. This also includes the physical body, your early infancy, personal expression and the image we instinctively project onto the world.

When we are born, we are influenced by the people and environment around us. Be it in a hospital, around strangers or in a familiar environment. The 1st house is ruled by Aries, sign of impulsion, determination and confidence. As we travel through infancy, we pick up things from our environment and they leave an imprint on your psyche the rest of your life, whether you like it or not.

Say for example, you have a Gemini Ascendant, this can mean you were born into a family where knowledge was key and everyone surrounding you was a kind of flukey at times. This house is a cause and effect type of house, as those early influences lead you to act as your surrounding.

The reason why the 1st house also connects back to our physical appearance is because of our DNA your biological parents gave you. It's not just the sign, it can be the planets in it too. If you have Mars near the Ascendant, it might give you a more maltreated demeanor and defensive attitude to your life. I usually stray away from the "mask" cliché in my practice, i instead use the "worldview" trope in a reading.

For starters, i have a Libra Ascendant, this means i navigate the world in a balanced and consonant fashion. The "mask" cliché sounds like you're pretending rather than being genuine of your behavior. The 1st house is where you first build character, like a first stop in your life story. I view the Natal chart as different stages in life sometimes like the 12th house is old age and death, the 7th house is your 20s and 30s.

The reason empty houses mean nothing in a chart is because each house has a ruler, and saying "if you have an empty 1st house, you don't have sense of self" is dumb because isn't the Ascendant the 1st house?? Yeah, stay away from sources that bring out that kind of misinformation. If you don't have planets in your 1st house, look at your chart ruler, please. Personally, I don't have any planets in my 1st house but I have a good sense of myself.

It's as if everything in your birth chart ultimately climbs back to your 1st house. I've been really into psychological astrology for some time now, and this right here is a good reason why. The 1st house is your inherent aptitude and urges that you have learnt from early surroundings that were forced onto you. Think of something like a baby being pushed out of the womb, involuntary exposed to the outside world.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

[loosethreadsofyoursoul]

i made a tma playlist! it’s one song per fear entity, each corresponding to an avatar or victim (see below the cut for song breakdowns and more yapping)

cover art i downloaded from pinterest - it doesn’t say the artist but if u know who it is lmk !

the buried: like real people do - hozier

pov: alice “daisy” tonner

why were you digging / what did you bury / before those hands pulled me / from the earth

what did jon bury? what was he hiding as she suffocated? what was daisy hiding from before he came and pulled her out of there? did she ever feel like a real person?

the corruption: my strange addiction - billie eilish

pov: jane prentiss

hurts but i know how to hide it, kinda like it / … / my doctors can’t explain / my symptoms or my pain / but you are my strange addiction

and she did kinda like it, she was drawn to it, addicted to it, even with the pain and the detriment to her entire life. the corruption is toxic relationship core and she made a perfect avatar.

the dark: i will follow you into the dark - death cab for cutie

pov: manuela dominguez

if there’s no one beside you when your soul embarks / then i’ll follow you into the dark

i mean, she literally followed maxwell rayner into the dark. for all the good and the bad, she would have followed him even if no one else did. yknow, for cult reasons. but still.

the desolation: agnes - glass animals

pov: jude perry

agnes, just stop and think a minute / why don't you light that cigarette and / calm down now stop and breathe a second / … / a choking rose back / to be reborn / i want to hold you like you're mine / you're gone but you're on my mind

thinking about agnes montague for this song… jude really loved her. and it wasn’t pretty, she wanted control and loved her partly for how she was connected to their god, but the love was there. and i think she always missed agnes.

the end: if we were vampires - noah kahan, wesley schultz

pov: georgie barker

If wе were vampires, and death was a joke / we'd go out on the sidewalk and smoke / and laugh at all the lovers and their plans / i wouldn't feel the need to hold your hand

i considered this for trevor/the hunt bc of literal vampires but like the narrator is a realist in this song which is very much who georgie is. death is inevitable. danger is inevitable. and just because she couldn’t feel fear didn’t mean georgie wasn’t aware of what she had and that she needed to protect it and herself. she wasn’t reckless with her life which is what this song means to me.

the eye: every breath you take - the police

pov: elias bouchard/jonah magnus

every breath you take / and every move you make / every bond you break / every step you take / i'll be watching you

self explanatory. to me. still giggling about it actually.

the flesh: under your skin - jukebox the ghost

pov: jared hopworth

how much can you fit under your skin? / … / i can fit two people under my skin / … / and i can feel you laughing, under my skin / and the happy palpitations are making me… grin

also self explanatory. just shoving bones in there as often as possible. thanks a lot, jurgen leitner.

the hunt: run boy run - woodkid

pov: trevor herbert

run boy run, this world is not made for you / … / run boy run, break out from society / … / tomorrow is another day / and you won't have to hide away / you'll be a man, boy / but for now it's time to run, it's time to run

this song is so young trevor trying to find his place in the world after violently losing his brother to a supernatural being he didn’t know existed and feeling the responsibility of that while also being ousted from society. he never did stop running huh.

the lonely: agoraphobia - autoheart

pov: martin blackwood

tried on 13 pairs of / shoes and not one made me want to / leave this blessed house of mine / that’s just fine / i really don’t want to go anywhere / i don’t really want to go anywhere

i see why this is on so many lonely playlists and it really is martin in mag 170, trapped in that house by his own mind but also by what the house is doing to him. it’s a comfort, but not a good one, very much those feelings of self isolation.

the slaughter: in our bedroom after the war - stars

pov: melanie king

it's us, yes, we're back again / here to see you through, 'til the days end / and if the night comes, and the night will come / well, at least the war is over

i like this song for melanie and the slaughter bc it’s kind of an antithesis to who she is. as long as she has a war to fight, she’s comfortable. she won’t lose everything she’s fighting for. the war may be raging but by god she won’t be the one who loses.

the spiral: strawberry fields forever - the beatles

pov: michael shelley/the distortion

let me take you down / cause I'm going to strawberry fields / nothing is real / … / living is easy with eyes closed / misunderstanding all you see / it's getting hard to be someone, but it all works out

there’s the obvious “misunderstanding all you see” spiral and distortion connotations but for michael, it also was hard to be someone. nothing was real to him either, really.

the stranger: you’re somebody else - flora cash

pov: tim stoker

well, you look like yourself / but you're somebody else / only it ain't on the surface / well, you talk like yourself / no, I hear someone else though / now you're making me nervous

the irony of this song is that. she didn't look like herself. or talk like herself. but to tim, it was sasha, and she didn't make him nervous until the end when he became nervous about everything because of what happened to her. and he became somebody else, too.

the vast: space oddity - david bowie

pov: simon fairchild

i'm stepping through the door / and I'm floating in a most peculiar way / and the stars look very different today / for here / am I sitting in a tin can / far above the world

this song has very clear vast connotations but i also like the imagery of simon sitting far above everyone else. in a literal way but also he thinks he's above most people because of his abilities, so he uses them to cause problems on purpose which is ultimately his downfall. what an interesting, weird old man.

the web: control - halsey

pov: annabelle cane

my mind's like a deadly disease / i'm bigger than my body / ... / goddamn right, you should be scared of me / who is in control?

the thing about annabelle is that all those things are true but. at the point where we get to know her, she's part of something bigger than herself, it genuinely doesn't matter to her whether she lives or dies.

the extinction: love song (for the apocalypse) - ira wolf

pov: jonathan sims

i packed a photo of us from our very first date / you packed the water 'cause I couldn't carry the weight / and into the ashes you carved out a heart with our names / ... / we could say we told you so, but what good is that now

i like this song for jon and the extinction for many reasons but firstly i think it's funny to have jon's song be associated with the only entity that didn't actually mark him. but yeah this song is very jonmartin during the eyepocalypse. everything's a disaster, but they're together, and they endure.

[not-poignant]

Hi, Pia! A year ago I discovered you through the Mysterious Skin fanfic, which truthfully has helped me in so many emotional layers till this day (and always will). After that read, I jumped on your profile and was blown away by the world you have created with your own hands. You really inspired me to publish my first fic in AO3 recently (for a random fandom), but sadly I've been having a hard time with it.

At the beginning I was relieved that fear didn't stop me anymore, but then it happened again, it came back, in another form, hitting me harder. I don't know how to explain myself, it's just that I think I'm not good enough, that there are better stories with better characterisations and when I read one of those I think: "This is perfect, I could never achieve this level, I don't have this voice, I should just delete mine, I don't have nothing to say, I can't make people feel this way" and I hate to have those feelings because I think it breaks down the true meaning of writing in general (to help people, to connect, to make a tribute, to have an emotional journey), but at this point I have lost my mind. My dream was always to be a writer, but I left it behind for so many reasons, now I thought things were changing inside me, but I guess it's not the case, I can't even deal with a fanfic...

I just wonder if you have ever feel this way before. How did you start writing? How has it been for you? How do you deal with these things? Feel free to answer me only if you're comfortable with that, I don't wanna put pressure on you as if you were my spiritual guide, but, for all the thoughts and things you share here, I think you are a wise person.

Sorry for the long text, I don't have people in real life to talk to about these issues. I'm really grateful to you already because of your story, it's always in my heart, it's part of me. Btw, I hope you are doing well, keep the amazing work. ❤️

PS: Sorry for the mistakes, not a native English speaker here.

Hi anon,

Congrats on posting your first fic! That's really huge. Even if it does open us up to The Insecurities, it's still a massive thing to do in the first place and I'm so happy for you.

As to everything else, oomf, let's get into it.

So the first thing is there is no writer out there who doesn't get assailed - literally assailed - by insecurities and massive feelings of self-doubt or even self-hatred over their writing (if there is, I haven't met them).

There's no point in writing at which they stop, and if you overcome some, new ones come in their place. I think that's just the nature of the beast - both wanting to (ideally) please at least some of our readers, and also offer something decent to read.

It can help to realise this is a normal part of writing and the experience. Obviously at its most severe, it might require therapy support, or professional support of some kind, but getting assailed by The Insecurities is part of being a creative person.

I don't know how to explain myself, it's just that I think I'm not good enough, that there are better stories with better characterisations

So yeah, this is true. Hear me out! This is true for me too. This is true for every writer that exists. Even the ones who win Pulitzers. This is going to sound blunt, but this is true for every story in the world. I know when I post my works that there are better stories with better characterisations out there. And there are stories that I consider perfect to me. But this last part is really important! I don't get to determine what's perfect for everyone. I'm not allowed to make that choice for them. And also people don't read in order to find The Most Perfect Story Ever, they read for many many many reasons, and that one often isn't even on the list! That's just on our list, when we feel beset by The Insecurities.

Like, yes, better stories exist. That's very subjective. They're better to you, they might not be better to some of the readers who read your work, and unless your only goal in writing is to be 'the best ever' (this is not a great goal imho because it's unattainable) sometimes a simple 'oh...yeah I mean it's true there are better stories according to me, but that doesn't mean that people won't enjoy mine, or that people won't think my stories aren't the best, and I'm not even writing to be the best in the world, so I don't know why I'm listening to this because it's not even what my values are in writing.'

But I also need to make it clear that your insecurities will never leave you 100%. They find new ways to come back, and they do keep coming back. We get periods free of the worst of it, often have low-key doubts in the background fairly frequently, and sometimes feel really good about writing. That's...writing. You haven't done anything wrong in your writing or in yourself when you have new insecurities coming in, and you've acknowledged yourself that things have already changed, because these are new or different insecurities. Think of it like an upward spiral, you circle back to feeling insecure, you have to if you want to keep going up.

You won't stay there forever, but the circling is part of the process. It can help to remind yourself of some cognitively true facts - what you think is perfect in writing is someone else's 'worst story ever' if they read it. What you love to read is not necessarily what you end up writing, and that doesn't mean it can't be someone's favourite story. And yeah, someone has already done something better by our standards, because I don't think there's any point on this journey where we go 'that's it, I've done it, I've become the best writer ever, insecurities begone!!!' (It would be nice, but it's not how it works).

So when insecurities come back it's not 'oh god I've failed at writing and/or keeping the insecurities away' it's - this is normal. You can go 'oh I'm being a regular writer right now, in the hard part of it.' I know this. It sucks. It probably means I need a break when it gets really bad, and I need to recharge a bit. I can keep improving, and my writing doesn't have to be anything other than entertaining. I've pretty much struck perfect from my vocabulary. It's too subjective.

I just wonder if you have ever feel this way before.

Anon, about twice a year I feel so bad about my writing I become convinced that the only answer is to delete all of it off my AO3 accounts. And on a regular basis I go between what I consider fairly normal insecurities (is that closing okay / is this arc good / will people like this character / have I pushed this too far / oh god my engagement is down am I terrible at writing), to pretty intense ones (idk why I do this nothing I write is good / how have I convinced these amazing people that this is worth their time / I wish I could write like (insert X author here) instead of this absolute mid shit etc.)

It helps me a lot to know that some of it is mental illness, but most of it is actually just normal. I'm a writer who wants my readers to have a good time and who wants to write something I can be proud of, and sometimes my brain won't let me feel proud of anything I've done because I made it, and sometimes I don't like myself very much. It means I should work on liking myself more. It doesn't mean I should stop writing.

I started writing as a kid, to cope with fairly awful life circumstances at home. So I was lucky that insecurities didn't matter because no one was seeing my writing except for me, I already hated myself (because people who were supposed to care for me, hated me - there's a reason I write the stories I do!) and I was literally trying to survive something that some people don't survive.

When I started sharing my writing, The Insecurities came. And...idk, I learned how to recognise it as a normal part of the process. It took a long, long time. It's normal to feel like there's something unique about how much we suffer over not liking our writing or feeling like it's bad, that the insecurities say something really true about our writing or even our integrity as a person.

Most of the time they say nothing at all except about the state of our mental health and how tired we are. For example, it's more normal for artists and writers to hate what they create during times of government unrest, or increased oppression, or in abusive households, because it's a way to redirect a lot of very unpleasant feelings to something we think we can control.

Sometimes it just happens because we're tired and the wave crashes over the dam we have in place that says 'go away insecurities.' Like you'd be amazed how much food, staying hydrated, getting good sleep / having good sleep hygiene can actually keep the worst of The Insecurities at bay.

Sometimes we need a break! Too much of a good thing in writing can lead to our brain trying to tell us we're terrible at it so we'll just walk away and watch some movies for a bit! The best way to prevent that is to take a break before we get there.

The good news is, you're a writer feeling something very normal for us writers. The bad news is that it feels bad. It can help to step back a bit, and also to join some writer's groups online maybe, ones that focus on support and lifting people up.

I wish I could say you one day hit a point where the insecurities never come back, but if anything, I don't think you can do these sorts of crafts without them. At their extremes they're not good for us, but the extremes of anything aren't good for us. You're not alone, I promise. The worst you've felt about your writing, is the worst many people have felt about their writing. It's just...often such a lonely process and many writers don't talk about it, but it's there, and it won't last. It's part of the spiral. Over time, you might find it easier when you know it's normal, and temporary, but frankly, there are times it's just really, really hard.

You will move past this, and then one day you'll touch on this again, and then you'll move past it again. Sometimes we spend longer in it than we wanted to, sometimes we need to take a longer break than we meant to, sometimes we write more than was good for us with how tired we were at the time.

It's not perfect, it's not supposed to be perfect, but it is part of the journey, it just means you're a writer like the rest of us writers, anon. I hope you can find your way back into writing more soon! And I hope you can be compassionate towards yourself. You put yourself out there, and have been writing, and honestly that's fucking amazing. I think you're awesome.

[sossolei]

I'm actually crying rn please, how do I really shift? For a fact Ik that shifting and manifestation is real. But I've been unable to shift my awareness to my Dr.. I saw your hogwarts posts and im really happy and glad that you get to experience all of that but I can't even shift to a better version of my cr let alone some fictional world??I really wanna get out of this abusive household, it's messing up with my mental peace each day, everyday waking upto fights and getting blamed for being a disappointment. I'm sorry I'm not trauma dumping but I just really wanna get out of here.

I am 10000% going to make a more detailed post about this very soon, but to answer your question right now, the best advice I can give you is to genuinely stop listening to other people and try to make shifting/a ritual before shifting, as fun as possible.

Advice is great don’t get me wrong, but after a certain point everyone is just repeating the same talking points and yapping about things that don’t work for you and your journey. Find your own groove but for now here’s what I’ll say:

1. Practice meditation as often as you can. Do it for sleep. Do it while you’re awake. Do it before school or work. Do it whenever and genuinely get in tune with who you are without a body and without a mind. You are pure consciousness and meditation is one of the best ways to internalize this.

2. Since you mentioned manifesting, practice small manifestions in your current reality because that is also considered reality shifting. Every time you decide to walk left instead of right, you’ve just shifted realities because universe is now adapting to what you have chose. If you think manifesting is your thing, build up your confidence within that AND ( best part ) try to manifest things from your better c.r, into your current reality. Start off small like maybe a cute cup from your better reality to bring into your current one or even some curtain bangs to look more like your better reality self—not only will these things build your confidence but they will also make you feel so connected to that other reality. Genuinely apply this and you’ll wake up one day and realize something so small like a cup, or a cute notebook from your other reality that is in your c.r means that that reality is never as far as you think it is.

3. Be mindful of the language you use. Never come back from a shifting attempt and think, “omg I didn’t shift again”, instead switch that to “damn I gotta practice waking up in that other reality instead of just sleeping there all the time” does that make sense? You realistically could’ve shifted while you slept, but because you were sleeping, you wouldn’t have noticed. HELLO! It makes sense guys.

That’s all I can say right now but definitely ask me anything else, I’d love to help in any way I can and I can guarantee you will shift to that reality ( even if you haven’t already ) because you shift every single day and this reality is no different than choosing pizza instead of burgers for dinner LOL.

[petrenocka]

I haven't even opened Ultrakill for what feels like a life but was probably just half a year.

But the Violence layers still isn't letting me go.

It's so sad. And it's so unique. It's the most unique layer in the whole game. Because the whole thing is about a single character. I mean sure, layers have been about characters, but most of them at least share.

Violence is just about one character, a character that's been there the whole time, from second one, but was always sidelined for something or someone else time and time again for 2 whole acts. V1.

Sure Gabriel fights V1, desires to fight V1, but it's more about how Gabriel himself feels about it. With his monologes it always felt to me like their "rivalry" is entirely one sided, that for V1 Gabe is just one more bloodbath in its way. At most he's amusing.

And fittingly the whole 7th layer feels entirely disconnected from the rest of the game, but especially from Gluttony and Heresy, from moment one. With its blast of white and surreal levels connected by ideas instead of geography. More then any layer so far in the game Violence feels like a mind palace, a dream scape. Alien and weird yet deeply personal. It reminds me of the Hunter's dream from Bloodborne.

The layer is about the romance and beauty of murder, the tragedy of weapons, and the self-destructiveness of it all.

Man, it's the fucking. That final stretch of War Without Reason. It makes me want to cry. The way the signature V1 guitar screeches so desperately, taking the highest notes it ever does, the instrument sounds like it's tearing its voice cords into teathers screaming, begging, trying to hold onto the moment, to not let go, to not let the composition conclude the way it inevitably will.

What is love but painting your world with the other's finite life? A desire to spill someone's lifeblood onto the walls of your house, take trinkets, momentos, limbs of your beloved's life which you graft onto your own, decorate yourself in viscera. War is the one thing machines can, the only thing. They feel for each other, they love each other, they seek to break down the metallic barriers of their skin and into the soft flesh beneath, and take their blood for their own. To love is to kill, and weapons only know killing. But when you kill someone they die. It doesn't last, it cannot last. No matter how hard you try, how deep you go its finite, it will be over. It will be over soon.

The Earthmover was V1's one true love, I will die on this hill. It's the only thing V1 went out of its way to kill. Way out of its way. It saw how it shoots its railcanon and was Helpleeeeees, down for the count and drowning in them. Even if we somehow ignore all the yonic visuals of the level design in 7-4. I mean, we're the Ultrakill fandom. We of all people should understand that trying to kill each other is sex.